Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents
by mossley
Summary: April 3 Completed. A sequel to Poetic Injustice. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara’s past is back.
1. Default Chapter

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:** A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:** PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_ first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Burked for being my erudite beta.

**Disclaimer:** If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 1 **

Greg slowly rose from his stool, peering cautiously over the top of his monitor. A quick scan revealed his quarry wasn't in sight. Yet. He sank down with a resolute sigh. Today was going to be the day.

Well, technically, tonight was going to be the night. Among other things, working the graveyard shift wreaked havoc on common platitudes.

In any case, the moment for action had arrived. Things had been left hanging for too long. It was time to settle this situation once and for all.

Sara Sidle was going to be his.

The only drawback was she seemed stubbornly resistant to this fact.

Telling her could be problematic. She had an independent streak exceeded only by her temper. If he came right out and told her, she might get offended. Who was he kidding – she would be offended.

Sara would probably demand a pound of flesh as punishment. Greg winced. It didn't take a brilliant and witty lab tech to figure out where she'd go to get it. He shifted himself unconsciously.

He was very attached to Roscoe and the twins. That wasn't how he wanted Sara to be introduced to them. She could lay claim to them as often as she wanted, as long as she didn't actually detach them.

No, it would be better – not to mention safer – for Sara to realize they were a perfect match on her own.

Who would have thought a scientist as brilliant as Sara could have overlooked such an obvious fact? He even had done a Mendelian and non-Mendelian analyses of the joining of their DNA, complete with a statistical analysis of the probable outcomes in four children.

Greg sighed wistfully. Sara had beautiful epithelials.

Getting her to draw the conclusion they were meant to be together would take a bit of effort, but he was a master chess player, after all. It was all in the strategy. That had been his problem in the past. He'd been too passive. This was Sara – she was direct. He needed to be direct.

But not too direct. She had access to sharp instruments.

Greg swallowed nervously and looked over his monitor again. He raised an eyebrow triumphantly as he grabbed a printout and bolted out the door.

"Sara!"

"What's up?" she replied, not pausing as she made her way down the corridor.

"I solved your Collins case," he said, smiling smugly.

Sara looked up from her folder, turning slowly as one eyebrow rose questioningly.

"With the DNA evidence you expertly collected," he added quickly. "Got a hit from CODIS."

"You got workable DNA from that stuff?"

"Well, it wasn't easy," he said dramatically, "but I knew this case was important to you. This guy is a real creep. I pulled a double to process the clothing. Found some epithelials that hadn't been contaminated."

"Good job."

Greg beamed under the obvious praise in her voice.

"Well, you could always thank me personally," he said, turning his head slightly and patting his cheek. "Go ahead. You know you want to."

His smile disappeared as Sara gave his cheek a pinch that put even Grandma Olga to shame.

"Yow-owowowowowow."

"Sara!"

Hearing her name, she turned to see Grissom hobbling up the hallway behind them. She couldn't stop the amused smile that formed. He was still getting used to being on crutches since he broke his ankle last week. Graceful wasn't a term anyone would use to describe him currently.

"Let go of Greg! That noise he's making is painful. He sounds like a demented cat in heat."

"Sure," she said, walking back to join Grissom. "Want me to get you some coffee?"

"Please," he growled, shambling off to his office in a huff.

Sara smiled as she headed to the break room, knowing Grissom hated not being able to manage something as simple as carrying a mug to his office. Even worse, his injury kept him confined to the lab. Things had been slow all week, and he'd had no excuse to avoid paperwork.

She didn't take his short temper personally. Although he hadn't said anything, she suspected using the crutches was aggravating his knee. On top of everything else, it was making him testy.

Besides, once he got settled, he'd apologize. He was actually getting good at it. Over the past few days, they'd shared a handful of meals together, talking about all that had happened. Their friendship was getting back on track, even though neither was certain where it was heading.

"Sara!"

She closed her eyes at the sound of her name. It was hard to imagine she'd ever hear him use that much emotion when calling out to her at work. The sweetness in his tone was incredible. Sara smiled broadly as she turned around; this could be fun.

"Hello, Ecklie."

"It's Conrad," the day shift supervisor insisted, giving her a sugary smile. "How are you this evening?"

"Fine," she said, returning his smile with one equally cloying. "You're here late."

"Had a break in one of our cases. Don't tell me Grissom is making you fetch his coffee!" he said in annoyance.

"I offered."

"That's one of the many things I like about you, Sara. You're a team player. You don't let personal things interfere with your work. Very professional."

"Thanks, Conrad," she said, wondering if it was possible to have an insulin reaction to such saccharine-loaded talk.

"Did you hear that Barb is planning on taking an early retirement?"

"No," Sara said, honestly surprised, dumping sugar in her mug.

"Next March," he said, moving in conspiratorially.

"You shouldn't have any problems finding a replacement," Sara said, giving him a dirty look as he violated her personal space.

"I'd rather fill the vacancy in-house. If you switch to my team, that'll make you the senior CSI on day shift. That, and a supervisor who values his employees, can do wonders for your career."

She stirred the coffee absentmindedly. Since word got out that Grissom had given her his secret recipe for Red Creeper, she'd been plied with a variety of compliments and presents from other CSIs. The dusting powder had that type of reputation.

But enough for her to be offered a fast track to promotion?

"Look, the word is out you aren't happy on nights any more. You're a great CSI. The lab doesn't want to lose you. Cavallo has already approved you moving to another shift if it'll keep you here."

Sara gave him a startled look. Ecklie rolled his eyes, pointing to a large potted plant still sitting in the corner of the room. It was a make-up present from Grissom; she hadn't bothered to take it home yet. The guys were having too much fun leaving faked bug suicides in it.

"Between the two of us, I can't see how any of you can stand to work with Grissom. Oh, he's the best CSI I've ever met. There's no question about that. But he doesn't respect his employees. You won't have that problem on days. Think about it."

"Yeah," she said softly, staring as Ecklie walked out of the break room. Giving her head a shake, Sara grabbed her file and the coffee mugs. On the way to Grissom's office, she paused at Greg's lab door.

She smiled when she saw the tech rubbing his cheek morosely.

"Thanks, Greggo. You're right. I've wanted to do that for the longest time."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

With considerable effort, Catherine forced her mouth shut. After more than a decade as a CSI in Las Vegas, she thought she was unshakable. The spectacle in front of her was bringing that conclusion into question.

"Can you tell me what happened?" she asked softly.

"We were assaulted."

"We were violated."

"We demand action."

"Who's in charge here?"

"Yes, yes, we want the top person."

"Okay," she said, planting what she hoped was a professional look on her face and turning to the first speaker. "And you are?"

"I'm Dweedle Dee," replied the very short, very rotund, purple man dressed in orange Lycra.

"I'm Dweedle Dum," answered what presumably was his twin, albeit he was more maroon chromatically and dressed in pea-green.

"Your real names?" O'Riley demanded.

"Those are!" the purple man exclaimed, pulling out a wallet from his silvery boot, his companion mimicking his action.

"Okay, why are you here?" she asked, not bothering to take the proffered drivers licenses.

"We were assaulted!"

"We were violated!"

"We were molested!"

"We were accosted!"

"We were robbed!"

"Pilfered!"

"Despoiled!"

"We demand action!"

"We demand justice!"

Catherine swung her head back and forth rapidly as each twin angrily pumped tiny chartreuse-gloved fists, their responses flowing together seamlessly.

"We want our Pooka!"

"Who's Pooka?" O'Riley interrupted, not bothering to hide his mirth.

"Pooka is our pride."

"Pooka is our joy."

Catherine collapsed into one of the chairs in the interrogation room. "Look, er, Mr.…"

"Call me Dee."

She turned to look at his cohort expectantly.

"Call me Dwe."

"Yeah. Right. Look, Dee, Dwe, before we can help you, you have to tell us what happened. What's Pooka? And, please, a useful description. It's hard to put 'pride and joy' on an APB."

"Pooka is the centerpiece of our act," replied the reddish Dwe, pulling out a picture from his wallet. It showed what looked to be a real stuffed llama that had been dyed bright pink.

"A group of thugs knocked us down as we were packing up after our performance this evening. They stole Pooka."

"There were at least a dozen of them. A gang!"

"They were brutes."

"Fiends."

"Barbarians."

"Hellions."

"Were you injured?" O'Riley injected quickly, not flinching under the indignant look the duo gave him.

"They ripped my livery!" Dee exclaimed, hopping up in his chair. He pointed to a very hairy knee showing through a tear in his outfit. "Do you know how much custom-made Lycra suits cost?"

"Who cares about that?" Dwe hissed. "They have Pooka. We can't work without Pooka."

"So, I'm guessing you two have a show at one of the clubs?" Catherine ventured.

"Please! We're performance artistes! We'd never debase ourselves working in a tacky club!"

"We perform only for the public."

"What kind of performance?" O'Riley asked hesitantly.

"It's hard to describe."

"It's a visual treat."

"It's something we can show you."

"It's not the same without Pooka."

Before Catherine could stop them, the men climbed on top of the table. They began to gyrate in what could only be described as the Ompah Lompah mating dance choreographed by a deranged Ricky Martin.

She closed her eyes against the visual assault. It was going to be a very long night.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

_TBC_


	2. Ch 2

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:** A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:** PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_ first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Ann and Marlou for beta-ing this chapter along with Burked.

**Disclaimer:** If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Sara fought the urge to laugh as she stood in Grissom's doorway. He was leaning against his desk, scowling deeply as he rummaged through the battered backpack he was currently using in lieu of his briefcase.

It was the same bag she used in college to haul her books. Sara had brought it out of semi-retirement after watching Grissom trying to carry his briefcase and manage his crutches at the same time. He could only walk a few steps before the briefcase threatened to fall from under his arm.

Even though it was a generic navy bag that had nothing 'girly' about it, it had taken an effort to get him to switch. The man did not like change. That much had become clear in their talks over the past week.

Any involvement between them would require he make considerable changes to his well-structured life. He liked the sense of security that the familiarity gave him. She understood this, but as she told him, not all change was bad.

Grissom gave her a frustrated look when he realized he was under scrutiny. Collapsing into his chair, he pointed an accusing finger at the backpack.

"I can't find anything in there," he sighed.

"It's only until you get a walking cast."

"I knew where everything was in my briefcase."

"It's okay," she said softly, crossing the room.

"These weren't meant to handle files."

"I know."

"You're patronizing me," he said petulantly.

"I prefer 'humoring'," she said, smiling broadly as she placed his coffee on his desk.

"I'm sure you find this very humorous," he said, giving her a half-wink. It faded as she placed a pack of ibuprofen on his desk near the mug. "Close the door."

"What's up?" Sara asked, giving him a quizzical look. It wasn't often he wanted to talk behind closed doors. She doubted it was personal – they were having those conversations at his townhouse.

"I saw that exchange with Greg in the hallway," Grissom said, pausing to swallow the painkillers. He gave her a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she replied, "You think I crossed a line."

"No, Greg did. I'll talk to him."

"Why?"

Sara smiled as she watched Grissom shift uncomfortably in his chair. In all the years she'd worked in Vegas, he'd never said anything to the lab tech about his flirting efforts. She suspected she knew the reason for his sudden concern. Officially, they weren't together, but his jealousy was endearing – when it wasn't directed at her.

"You shouldn't have to put up with that at work. It's not professional."

"You never said anything before," she pointed out with a smile.

"Some behavior is inappropriate in the hallways," Grissom stated, declining to take her bait.

"What about behind closed doors?"

She bit her lip to stop from laughing when he sputtered on his coffee, looking at her in disbelief. It was the first openly suggestive thing she'd said to him since they'd cleared the air between them.

Sara knew Grissom was still leery about starting a relationship. They may have talked about all the potential problems they faced, but that didn't make them go away. Still, she wanted him to know what direction she hoped their relationship would go.

"Behind closed office doors – yes," he finally managed to respond.

"Relax. I'm joking," she said dismissively, still smiling at his shock.

"Oh. Good," he said, blinking at her in an odd way.

"I can refrain from jumping you in the lab."

"Good."

"I'm sure it's a personal flaw on my part," she said dryly.

"Do you want to work every decomp in an enclosed space that we get?" Grissom's threat was tempered by the grin he gave her.

"I think that's my clue to leave."

"Sara," Grissom said softly. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said, hesitating at his office door. "Do you want to have breakfast after shift?"

"I'll have to take a rain check. I have to go to the scientific supply convention," he sighed.

Sara gave him a curious look. Las Vegas was a mecca of trade shows, including the companies that supplied forensic labs. The show officially opened the next day, but a special invitation-only preview was being held beforehand. Normally, Grissom relished the chance to see the latest gizmos and gadgets.

He saw her look and shrugged. "Tomorrow's meeting is for lab directors, supervisors, purchasing agents."

"Your peers," she said, raising her eyebrows when he gave her a hurt look.

"I'm a scientist," he said indignantly. "They're, they're … paper pushers."

"No one would ever accuse you of that," Sara said, smirking as she took in the ghosts of dead trees piled on his desk.

"Go!"

"Rain check?"

"Definitely," he promised.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Hey," Sara called out later when she entered the DNA lab. Her smile faltered when Greg refused to acknowledge her presence. "Did you get a chance to work on my Carlyle samples?"

He silently handed her a printout, turning his back to her once he was done.

Sara tilted her head as she watched him. This was totally out-of-character for Greg. The lab tech was normally overactive, not sullenly quiet. Maybe she had crossed a line.

"Greg, you aren't mad, are you?"

Silence greeted her.

"I'm sorry."

Greg entered another set of data into his computer.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

The clicks and beeps of the equipment were her only response. Sara shifted her weight, resting her arms on Greg's desk. She had only wanted to discourage his flirtations. She hadn't meant to damage their friendship.

"Look, I'm going on break in a few minutes. I haven't tried that new coffee shop yet. Why don't you join me?"

Greg turned his head to stare at her cautiously.

"My treat. I promise – no pinches."

The lab tech appeared to mull over the suggestion, watching her hesitantly.

"Come on. It'll be the two of us."

"Fine," he said reluctantly.

"Okay. Thanks," she said, holding up her printout as she left the room.

Greg kept his cautious look until she rounded the corner. As he turned back to his monitor, a sly smile broke out. She fell for it! Oh, sometimes it was necessary to sacrifice a pawn or two, but he'd gotten her to ask him out.

There was a reason he was the captain of his college chess team.

Archie paused outside of the DNA lab when he heard the evil cackling coming from within. Deciding it was better not to ask, he continued to his own lab, wondering what type of trouble Greg was getting himself into this time.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Grissom sighed as he looked at the form in his hand. He'd swear in court that he'd already filled it out. Shuffling through the mounds of paper on his desk, he found its twin. His victorious smile faded when he realized that it was the report for the previous month.

He leaned back in his chair, watching wistfully as Sara and Greg walked down the hall. She gave him a wave as they went by. Grissom nodded in return, letting out a long sigh. They had to talk soon. She thought his behavior was due to his injury.

The truth was he was frustrated – very frustrated – but it had nothing to do with being stuck on crutches.

In the past, any thoughts about Sara had been in the abstract, a type of 'what if' scenario. They were now at the stage of deciding whether they'd remain friends or become more. From Sara's comments, it sounded like she wanted more.

She had been joking, hadn't she? They couldn't do something like that at work. He couldn't anyway. She did have more … adventures … than he had. It still surprised him to think she'd been part of the Mile High Club. What else had she tried? What else did she like?

Grissom let out a groan. That had not been the right subject to think of. He was frustrated enough already.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Catherine eyed their surroundings closely. She'd heard of street performers before, but their location was more like 'barely qualifies as a back alley'. And Dee and Dwe weren't what she'd call 'performers'.

The multi-hued duo were scampering ahead of them, pausing occasionally to bow to the homeless folks who apparently comprised their target audience.

"I say it was a mercy llama-napping," O'Riley whispered seriously. "Someone wanted to put Pooka out of its misery."

"You might be on to something," she replied, walking cautiously. The pavement that wasn't pockmarked was covered in trash.

"Do you know how they fit a stuffed llama into that … act?"

"No! I don't want to know," she said, shuddering slightly at the recall of their 'dance'.

"Here!" yelled Dwe, pointing down an alleyway.

"This is the spot!"

"This is the scene of the crime!"

"The attack!"

"The assault!"

"The offense!"

"The onslaught!"

"The violation!"

"Walking little thesauruses, aren't they?" O'Riley asked.

"Okay, Dee, Dwe, you go stand out of the way. I'll process the area," Catherine sighed when they began to caper around her.

"Be careful."

"Be diligent."

"Be thorough."

"We must get Pooka back."

"Pooka is our…"

"Yeah, yeah, your pride, your joy. I remember," Catherine said, holding out her hand to prevent the anticipated adjective assault.

"We can entertain…"

"NO! Um, I mean, I need to concentrate on this. You've had a traumatic day. Why don't you go rest?"

The twins shrugged and went to hop up on a crate on the opposite side of the street. O'Riley and Catherine looked around the scene.

"You going to be able to find any evidence in this mess?"

"I'll do my best," she said, looking at the piles of refuse littering the area. The neighboring buildings were abandoned, and it didn't look like anyone was paying for trash pickup. Naturally, that meant this was where everyone disposed of trash. "Maybe we have an eyewitness."

The police sergeant grunted, walking over to the first person he found and holding out a picture of Pooka. "Excuse me, sir. I'm with the Las Vegas Police. Did you see a llama-napping?"

"The Oompah Loompah's llama?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, wondering how many other stuffed pink llamas were usually found in this section of the city. "That's the llama I mean."

"A group of guys took it. They drove a van. It was parked over there," he said, pointing to the spot where Dee and Dwe were now shuffling around in a spirited tap dance while a small crowd clapped.

"Damn! I'll stop them," Catherine muttered, running across the street to shoo them away from what might be their only evidence.

"They watched the show. When it was done, they knocked the Oompahs down, and stole their llama. Then they drove off."

O'Riley asked standard questions on the make of the van, the number of assailants, any descriptions he could remember. If the man was to be believed, he not only knew the make and color of the van, but knew its license plate number as well.

"Do they come here often?" he asked, nodding to the pair that Catherine was trying to herd out of the area.

"Every other day. They have their show at 7 at night."

"Do you always watch their shows?" O'Riley asked, shaking his head when the man answered yes. "Why?"

The homeless man shrugged. "They never bring us any chocolates. I keep hoping they'll bring us some chocolates."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

_TBC_


	3. Ch 3

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:** A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:** PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_ first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Burked, Ann and Marlou for beta-ing this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Catherine stepped around the receptionist desk warily. If Judy's shell-shocked expression wasn't enough of a clue, the lack of a visible visitor validated her vision of a vis-à-vis with her vertically challenged vexatious varicolored vandalized victims.

To her surprise, a pair of naturally pigmented men, dressed in normal clothing, greeted her. If plaid Bermuda shorts and neon Hawaiian shirts could be called normal. Whatever else their troubles, the pair were victims of bad taste.

"Dee," she said, nodding to the first twin, then his brother. "Dwe."

They started capering gleefully around the startled Catherine, causing her co-workers to pause to stare. She didn't care. For years, she worked as a stripper, with men leering at her nearly nude body. This was nothing.

"You recognized us!"

"You can tell us apart!"

She forced a smile. The truth was Dee still had traces of purple makeup in his ears. It clashed horribly with his hair, which was currently dyed a brilliant blue. Dwe had done a better job of removing his maroon makeup.

"I am a highly trained criminalist," she said, deciding not to point out the truth to him. For all she knew, he was making a fashion statement. A hideous statement by any standard, but it was his to make. "What can I do for you guys?"

"We had to fill out some papers."

"We need a report."

"We wanted to thank you while we were here."

"That's not necessary," she exclaimed quickly, shuddering at the thought of seeing yet another one of their dances.

O'Riley had to threaten to arrest them to get the pair to leave the crime scene alone. They had cartwheeled, tap-danced, hustled and leapfrogged all over the place, narrowly missing destroying evidence.

"But we insist!"

"You're so helpful."

"You're so dedicated."

"So thoughtful."

"So thorough."

"So kind."

"Understanding."

"Diligent."

"Brilliant."

Catherine's smile became sincere. Who didn't like getting rightfully deserved praise in front of their co-workers?

"And you're hot!"

"What a babe!"

"Yowsa! Yay!"

"Want to go out?"

"What?" she sputtered, suddenly very conscious of dozens of eyes watching the exchange. The pair grinned lecherously, rocking back and forth in a disturbing pattern.

"Don't let our looks deceive you!" Dee squeaked, grabbing one of her hands and kissing it.

"Don't judge a book by its cover!" Dwe added, capturing her other hand and repeating the motion before she could react.

"We're very versatile."

"We're very flexible."

"Enthusiastic."

"Energetic."

"We have great endurance," Dee said, holding onto Catherine as she tried to free her hand.

"We have great stamina," Dwe added, bracing his legs as she tried to pull away.

"Guys! Let go!" Catherine snapped.

"Of course," Dwe said, smiling as the pair started their back and forth rocking again.

"We're well-behaved."

"We're well-mannered."

"Well-respected."

"Well-endowed."

Catherine closed her eyes as Nick and Warrick strolled by, each making no effort to disguise their humor.

"Sorry, guys. Professional ethics. Can't get involved with anyone involved in a case," she said sweetly, mentally mapping out how she'd murder her colleagues when she heard Warrick's loud guffaw.

The duo stopped their rocking motions, sharing a defeated shrug. They shuffled their way out the front door leaving Catherine alone with a sizeable portion of the night shift behind her. Someone was brave enough to start snickering.

She turned around deliberately, fixing them with a steely-glare. It was a glare only a single mother could give. Hers was even more glaring – it had been honed by years as working as a coke-addicted stripper, supporting her abusive, financially irresponsible, two-timing husband while her multimillionaire father ignored her.

The crowd melted away, and Catherine stalked her way back to the locker room. Right now all she wanted was to hug her daughter, take a hot shower, go to bed and not dream about Oompah Loompahs.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Sara stretched as she made her way into the break room, wondering why Nick and Warrick were in such a good mood. It was more than the upcoming trade show – they couldn't get in until tomorrow.

Despite Grissom's complaining, the others would gladly take his place. There'd be all kinds of do-dads and gizmos, with the various companies having tons of promotional giveaways. Today, there would be actual demonstrations of equipment.

It was a geek's dream come true.

But the demonstrations had to be done under controlled circumstances. That meant a limited crowd. Only the bigwigs got to see those. They also got all the best goody bags, since they were the ones who controlled the budgets.

Well, she and Grissom had already made plans to attend tomorrow, when all the booths were set up. Officially, it was a work-related event. Unofficially, they got to go out and not worry if anyone saw them together. It would be nice, even if it technically didn't count as a date.

After pouring a mug of coffee, she made her way over to her potted plant, wondering if she should finally take it home. A grin broke out as she moved in closer.

Immediately after Grissom had sent it, someone had placed a hanged rubber spider in one of the fronds. It had been an unsubtle message to the entomologist that he was on dangerous ground after their argument. He'd been indifferent to it.

An acrylic stag-horn beetle that had committed hari-kari with its own horn had followed a short time later. Grissom rolled his eyes at the addition.

Next, a fake pill bug had joined the collection. Someone had taken the time to make a bug-sized prescription bottle out of orange plastic. They even painted fake foam around the mouth to match an overdose victim's reaction. Grissom had pouted after that.

"What is it this time?"

She looked back to see Grissom moving up behind her, an irritated look on his face. "Death by handgun."

He groaned as he looked at the plastic butterfly – or what remained of it. Someone had placed a tiny, toy handgun in its feet and put a hole through its middle.

"You have to admit, the blowback spatter is very accurate," Sara said, smiling despite her best efforts to keep a straight face.

"A moth could never articulate its joints that way. It couldn't pull a trigger," he pointed out matter-of-factly as he sank into a chair.

"I don't think they actually make handguns that small," she smirked, turning to examine the model more closely. Leave it to Grissom to grouse about the accuracy of the bugs in a joke.

"I don't get it," she added after a moment.

"I don't think there's any secret message intended," he said petulantly.

"No. I thought there was a pattern. The method of death matched the bug."

Grissom frowned, mulling over his options. When Sara gave him an imploring look, he let out a loud sigh and hobbled over to the plant. He picked up the moth, turning it over a few times, before shaking his head in disgust. Setting it back in the plant, he made his way to the table.

"Coleophora malivorella," he said when Sara cocked her head quizzically.

"And?"

He gave her a dirty look before letting out a long breath.

"Also known as the pistol case-bearer moth."

Grissom frowned when she started laughing out loud.

Sara gave him an apologetic smile and sat across from him. "What time are you leaving for the convention?"

"Doors open in about 15 minutes, but that's for the breakfast buffet. The show itself starts in about an hour."

"Hey, you get a free breakfast out of it," she said encouragingly.

"So do you."

Both turned to see a broadly smiling Ecklie entering the room waving an envelope. "The Boise Crime Lab's flight was delayed. I convinced the organizers to let me have their pass. You can join us, Sara," he said sweetly.

"Thanks, Conrad," she said with a genuine smile. Sara had no dreams of working for him, but she wasn't about to pass on the opportunity to go to geek nirvana. Besides, it meant she could spend more time with Grissom.

She looked up to Grissom, noticing his shocked expression. It wasn't hard to understand. She suddenly was on a first-name basis with his nemesis. There hadn't been time to tell him about the offer to move to day shift yet.

"This is what happens when you have a boss who respects your contribution," he said quietly as he moved to grab some coffee. "Need a ride to the show?"

"No, thanks. I'm good."

"See you later."

"Bye."

"What was that all about?" Grissom asked.

"Let's talk about it over breakfast. I'll drive."

After they signed in, Sara went to the buffet to get their breakfasts. Grissom scouted out the room, finally picking a table set in a quiet corner. He placed the backpack and jacket on one chair, sat in another, resting his cast on a third. Sara could have the last seat, and his crutches were leaning against the open side.

No one was going to join them. He wanted to know what was going on. Ecklie was getting Sara gifts? Sara was happy to get them? Something was very wrong in the universe – or at least his section of it.

After she finally found Grissom in the obscure location, Sara smiled. She recognized his setting up his own private territory so they could talk. It was sweet, in a very Grissomesque way.

"Ecklie offered me a job on days," she said directly as she placed his plate of food and drink down.

"Cavallo would never let him take you."

"Cavallo's already approved it. If I want it," she added when he stared at her. "Or swing shift."

"Why are my CSIs being taken from me?" he asked hotly, not noticing her own irritated look at being considered a possession.

"Word got out that I wasn't happy on graveyard anymore. He's willing to move me to another shift to get me to stay."

"Why didn't you tell Ecklie 'no' right away?"

"I haven't had time to think about it," she said, playing with the straw in her juice.

"What's there to think about?" he asked, leaning over, even though no one was in earshot.

"One of the reasons you don't want to get together is because you're my boss. I switch shifts, that problem is gone."

"No. I don't want you to switch."

"Does that mean you don't want to do anything? About us?" she asked softly.

"No," he said, softening his tone when he noticed her sad expression. "It's not that."

"What is it then?"

"We'd never see each other if we were on different shifts," he explained, moving his hand so it brushed against hers.

"But we don't 'see' each other because we're on the same shift."

"What can I say? I want my cake, and I want to eat it, too," Grissom said, smiling broadly at her.

Sara grinned wickedly as she lifted the straw and drew it slowly into her mouth. "Promise?"

Grissom groaned as he realized his double-entendre. Her oral antics with the straw weren't helping. He closed his eyes. Hopefully, he wouldn't need to stand up any time soon.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The sound of suppressed laughter greeted Catherine as soon as she crossed the threshold. Nick and Warrick were leaning against the row of metal lockers, clearly amused by her earlier embarrassing encounter with Dee and Dwe.

"I can't believe that scene, Cath," Warrick said.

"That was so wrong," Nick added.

"Seriously. Can't believe they hit on you like that."

"The least they could have done was brought you some chocolates."

"Okay," she said coolly. "Let's get one thing straight. Those are not Oompah Lompahs. They're a pair of performance artists. Oompah Loompahs are orange. Oompah Loompahs have green hair."

"They're imaginary," Nick added with a chuckle.

"Get out of my way," she sighed, pushing past them to get to her locker.

"Hey, now, we're your friends," Nick said, placing his hand over his heart dramatically. "Don't go being rude to us. You won't be happy if you do."

"Is that a fact? Or a threat?" Catherine said, turning her glare on them briefly.

Nick and Warrick exchanged a look and started backing towards the door. Catherine banged her head against the locker door as they exited the room, singing loudly:

_"Given good manners you will go far  
__"You will live in happiness too  
__"Like the Oompah Loompah Doompety do." _

Seeing her reach for her boots, the pair ducked into the hallway, bolting when they noted the force and accuracy with which she could throw the heavy footwear.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

_TBC_


	4. Ch 4

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:**A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:**PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:**Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Burked, Ann and Marlou for beta-ing this chapter.

**Disclaimer:**If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

  


**Chapter 4**

For the first time, Grissom found himself glad that he'd broken his ankle. Once the convention opened, the odious, ornery oaf Ecklie had oozed over, oleaginously offering to escort Sara, ostensively to officiate her orientation, but being obviously obnoxiously obdurate to the table's other occupant.

Giving him a syrupy smile, she had pointed out Grissom would need help carrying his share of the giveaways and volunteered for the duty. As she suspected, Ecklie didn't want to spend time with his night shift counterpart, and he'd given them a fake smile before slithering back into the crowd.

Her quick thinking provided them with the perfect cover to spend the entire morning together, moving from demonstration to demonstration, sharing their mutual love of science. It also gave them more practice at repairing their friendship as they joked and teased each other.

Grissom smiled as he watched her methodically testing a line of fingerprint dusting brushes. Despite her serious expression as she concentrated, he could tell she was enjoying herself. Even he found the trade show fun, but, in his case, it had more to do with his company.

Grissom hoped part of her enjoyment came from the same reason.

Moving to her side, he bent forward to observe her work. To get closer, he stood at a slight angle, one crutch behind Sara. The position allowed him to brush his arm and leg against hers. A hint of a grin was her only reaction.

Unfortunately, the motion didn't go undetected.

In the law enforcement community, the Las Vegas Crime Lab was famous for its solve rate. In the forensic supply world, it was famous for its budget. They had staff and equipment that was more likely to be found on a Hollywood set than at a cash-strapped government agency.

The booth's operator, recognizing Grissom, zeroed in on him immediately. Sara laughed quietly as the salesman cornered him, launching into a spiel on all the advantages of their latest product line.

Moving to the next setup, she smiled as he gave her a suffering look over the salesman's shoulder. This had happened at nearly every display. She was beginning to understand why he didn't like these events. Grissom politely expressed an interest in his products, hoping to break off the conversation soon.

Across the room, the booth's main competitor spotted the action and broke out their big guns. They were attached to Helga, a leggy blonde whose blouse barely contained them. Dressed as a cocktail waitress, she sauntered over to Grissom. In a husky voice, she asked him if he'd like to print her.

As she sashayed back to her booth, Grissom twisted first his head, then his body to track her actions as his jar headed farther south.

"Keep that up, and your other ankle's going to get broken."

He turned back to Sara, who was still bent over the display. She looked sideways at him, an eyebrow raised pointedly. Grissom had the distinct feeling she wasn't predicting an accident.

Grissom smiled weakly, once he remembered to close his mouth.

From his observation post several booths down, Ecklie rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

* * *

  


"What's gotten into you?" Archie finally asked. He knew he probably didn't want to know. He knew it was probably best not to know. But all through breakfast, the DNA tech had had a silly grin on his face that was starting to get on his nerves.

"Oh, just thinking about where I'll take Sara for a date."

"In your dreams," Bobby laughed.

"You are so out of your league," Archie added with a sad laugh.

"Bah! You're not considering who you're talking to," Greg said dismissively.

Archie and Bobby exchanged a look. They knew exactly who they were talking to. They also recognized that Sara and Grissom were back on friendly terms. And they had shared several meals together. And someone had pulled some sizeable strings to get Sara a pass to the trade show opening.

"Guys, seriously. We already went on one date."

"Sara agreed to go out with you?"

"No, she asked me out," Greg beamed.

"Sara? Sara Sidle?" Archie asked, choking on his coffee.

"Yeah."

"You dying or something?" Bobby deadpanned.

"Hah!"

"Seriously, man. How did you pull that off?" Archie asked, leaning over the table.

"I let her think she hurt my feelings. I batted my hurt puppy dog eyes at her," he paused to demonstrate, "and she asked me out to coffee."

"Oh, a sympathy date," the A/V tech said, nodding knowingly.

"Well, it was a date," Greg insisted. "And I've got her in position for my next move."

"Boy, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I went out with Sara!"

"You're playing games with her, Greg. Bad move."

"She's going to find out," Archie said.

"And she's going to chew you up and spit you out," Bobby warned, rolling his eyes at Greg's hopeful grin.

"Don't go there," Archie warned.

"Listen, oh ye of little faith. I'll have you know I'm a master chess player. This is a romantic game of chess. Now I'm going home to get plenty of rest. I have a feeling I'm going to need it," he said, grabbing his check and heading out.

"Yeah, he'll need his rest to get away from Sara when she finds out."

"Think we should tell him that Sara went out with Grissom this morning?"

Bobby leaned back in his chair grinning evilly as he sipped his coffee slowly. "Why? And miss all the fun?"

* * *

  


Catherine pulled over slowly. Diagonally across the street from her house, a battered old VW van was parked. Normally, she wouldn't have given much thought to something like that. But this van was badly painted a bright orange with multicolored balloon animals decorating the sides.

Letting out a sigh, she rested her head on the steering wheel for a moment, then snapped back up quickly. Lindsey was home. She had to get rid of that pair before they met her daughter. She'd probably want to keep them.

Crossing the street quickly, she rounded the van to the open side door. A brief flash of a Technicolor-clad rump greeted her.

"Get out of there!" Catherine demanded, slapping the roof of the van sharply.

A startled lone man – who was taller than Dee and Dwe put together – fell out onto the sidewalk, spilling a large bag of popcorn kernels in the process.

"Wh ... what?" he sputtered, trying to push his line of silk hankies back into his rainbow striped sleeves.

"Sorry. Wrong clown," she said, belatedly noticing the '_Magic by Guido Parties for all ages_' painted on the door.

"What's going on?"

Catherine turned around to see one of her neighbors – what's her name – running over with her henpecked husband in close pursuit.

"I don't know. I was unloading the popcorn machine," Guido whined. "She yelled at me to get out of my van."

"It's just a misunderstanding ..."

"Marty! You hired a criminal to perform at little Horace's birthday party! How could you?"

"I'm not a criminal!"

"I told you to get a pony, but no, you had wanted a magician. You got a crook!"

"He's not ...," Catherine tried to inject as what's-her-name smacked her husband's arm.

"See? He's not a criminal, sugarplum."

"Of course he is! Why else would she be arresting him?"

"I'm not arresting ..."

"You're a cop? What did I do?"

"Everybody, calm ..."

"What did you do? You pervert!"

"Owww!"

"I'm sure he's not a pervert, sugarplum. Owww!"

"Of course he is! Who else would go out in public dressed like that? That's why she's arresting him."

"I'm not arrest ..."

"I'm not a pervert! I love kids."

"I knew it!"

"Owww! That's not what I meant."

"Pervert!"

"Owww!"

"Help!"

"Sugarplum, I think you're overreacting. Owww!"

"Quiet!" Catherine yelled, wincing when she saw a dejected 5-year-old Horace. He'd been enjoying the show from the front lawn. She couldn't shake the feeling it would probably be the highlight of his party.

"He's not a criminal. I'm not arresting anybody. Well, maybe you, if you don't stop hitting people with your purse!" she snapped at sugarplum, before turning to the husband.

"You! Give him a hand with that equipment! Mister, errr, Guido. Sorry about this. Thought you were someone else. Here," she said, pressing a 20-dollar bill in his hand. "That's for the popcorn."

Finally making it to her house, Catherine was relieved to find Lindsey still asleep. There was no way she wanted to explain that scene. After giving her daughter a kiss, she moved towards her room planning on a long shower, but paused. Heading back to the living room, she went to the videos stored near the TV.

Catherine went straight to her closet, tossing _Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_into the box with her private stash of videos. Lindsey loved that movie, but there was no way she was going to watch it any time in the immediate future.

* * *

  


Sara wandered to the next demonstration, lost in thought. Earlier, she'd been afraid that she'd embarrassed Grissom at breakfast, but they'd gotten along well afterwards. Then that bimbo showed up. And Grissom had eyed her up.

_Was that what Grissom liked?_It would take major alterations to her wardrobe – not to mention her anatomy – to pull off that look. Even then, Sara doubted she could exude the pure sexuality the bimbo did. It just wasn't her style.

_Is that why he hasn't been interested? Nah, that can't be the reason. Well, there was Lady Heather. That was a rumor. A rumor he didn't deny. Oh, brother. _

She turned to find him watching her. They shared a brief, embarrassed smile.

Grissom pursed his lips. He wasn't used to bimbos throwing themselves at him. He never knew how to react in the situation. It wasn't his style. He darted his eyes to Sara, noticing she was concentrating on the carpet. _She must think I'm a pig. She's not even looking at me. _

They flashed each other another hesitant smile as they moved forward. Grissom's injured ankle, along with the lab's endless budget, earned them front-row seats at all the demonstrations. Ecklie and Cavallo took seats on either side of them.

Sara made the motions of looking over some product literature as she imagined herself trying to accommodate Grissom's apparent interest. Leather she could deal with. It would be better if it were pleather. But a whip? She'd put her own eye out tripping. She had never been very graceful on stilettos.

Grissom shifted in his chair as he tried to think of a way to explain himself to Sara. He had no interest – beyond the basic hormonal stuff – in that type of bimbo. The truth was he was fairly unoriginal in that regard. He knew there were rumors about his night with Heather, but that had been basic. Heather probably found him boring.

He didn't want to bore Sara. From the brief bit they'd talked about it, she'd been more adventurous when she'd been in college. He hadn't asked about her experiences since then. Well, he'd kept her waiting too long. If he didn't make a move soon, she was going to move on. Luckily, she didn't have anyone in the wings waiting for her.

They smiled again when she looked up, then both turned to watch as the speaker came on stage. Sara quickly dove behind her papers. It was a precaution. She hadn't seen him in 10 years. It wasn't like he'd remember her.

"Sara?"

_Damn!_She closed her eyes briefly, before dropping the brochure.

"Hey, Ken," she said.

Grissom darted his head back and forth between Sara and the preppy looking man walking towards them. A younger man who was giving her a very inappropriate grin.

_Ken? Who's Ken? That look he's giving her better not be the type of look I think it is. Why doesn't Ken go after that blonde Barbie bimbo out in the main convention floor? _

"Hi," the preppy man said, turning to Sara's companion. "Ken Fuller. Vice-president of product development at TriSci Chemical Corporation."

* * *

  


_TBC_


	5. Ch 5

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:** A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:** PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_ first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Burked and Ann for beta-ing this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Recognizing the name, Grissom turned to the younger man. A furrowed frown formed as he finally faced the feckless, fawning fop of a fellow with whom Sara had foolishly fulfilled a frolicking flirtatious in-flight fornicating fling.

Grissom eyed the man in distaste. There are certain truisms about the 'big man on campus' type. Inevitably, they go bald, go flabby, have failed marriages, and/or end up in dead-end jobs. The effect is so well known, it's practically its own set of karmic laws.

Unfortunately, the cosmos were outside of the Las Vegas Crime Lab's jurisdiction, or Grissom would have Fuller arrested for flagrantly breaking all of them.

The man looked like he stepped off the cover of a magazine – and not the type favored by prison inmates. He was buff, a sharp dresser and in full possession of his hair and teeth, neither of which were graying.

And, as far as Grissom was concerned, he was being far too friendly to Sara.

"So, you two have met before?" Cavallo asked after introducing himself.

"Yes, we _know_ each other."

"We went to college together," Sara answered, wondering if the situation could get any more awkward. Fuller was looking at her like she was the buffet, but they weren't in a situation where she could respond the way she wanted to.

"What are you doing here?" Ken asked, giving her a wolfish grin.

"I work at the Las Vegas lab."

"Really? I always figured you'd land a job in a big research lab. I never imagined you'd wind up in forensics."

"Well, who would have guessed you'd end up a traveling salesman?" Grissom asked, smiling broadly. He did not like this man.

"Actually, I normally don't do shows, but our rep got sick at the last minute. I've never been to Vegas, but heard it's an exciting place to be."

"There's all kinds of things to do here," Sara answered vaguely.

"Well, it has to be more exciting than my flight from Boston," he said, flashing Sara a grin. "I've definitely had more fun on a plane before."

Grissom scowled. Besides Ken and Sara, he was the only one who understood the private joke. Since it was a private joke, he couldn't exactly comment on it. Crossing his arms, he slouched back in his chair.

"Broken ankle?" Fuller asked, turning to give Sara a wink. "I remember when you broke your ankle. Don't imagine the situation was the same, though."

"No," Sara said, shaking her head as she tried to think of a way she could page herself so she'd have an excuse to get away.

Grissom's scowl deepened as Sara blushed. Fuller had been the one responsible for her breaking her ankle in a drunken romp in the shower years ago.

"Ahh, the demonstration is about to start," Fuller said, glancing down at Sara's hand. His smile deepened when he noticed the lack of a ring. "Are you busy tonight?"

"I work nights."

"How about dinner beforehand?"

"Sorry. Already have plans."

"Well, I'm in town all week. We'll have to see what comes up," he said teasingly.

Grissom's mood lifted slightly when he caught the evil glare Sara gave Fuller's back as he moved on stage. She seemed as unimpressed by Fuller as Grissom did. Sara had said she considered her involvement with Fuller a mistake.

Turning back to the demonstration, Grissom didn't notice Ecklie watching them closely.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Greg removed the CD from the burner and smiled broadly. This had been inspired, even for a funky and brilliant lab whiz like himself. Sara was sure to appreciate this little token of his affection.

Originally, he intended to give her a framed set of their respective STR DNA analyses. The X-ray strips would be a nice bit of scientific proof they were literally made for each other. He changed his mind once he realized Sara would want to know where he'd gotten her DNA to run the test.

Not to mention Grissom wouldn't be happy that he'd used the lab's resources to run the test. He didn't see what the big deal was; a single DNA test only cost several hundred dollars in supplies and salary. With all the tests they run, who'd notice an extra one?

Greg ignored the little voice that was trying to point out Grissom would be more interested in why he was giving Sara such a present, rather than how he acquired it.

Deciding to hold off on that gift, he settled on a personalized music collection. It wasn't a random selection, though. All the tunes were ones he'd heard Sara singing around the lab. Since it was a habit she rarely engaged in, coming up with enough songs to fill a CD showed he'd paid attention to her preferences.

That was more than Grissom could say.

Greg frowned as he placed the label on the disk. Why was he thinking about their supervisor? True, the hamburger scene a couple of years ago showed Grissom didn't know she was a vegetarian, even though everyone else knew it. But it wasn't like he was competing with him. Sara would never consider doing .... that ... with Grissom.

The lab tech shuddered involuntarily at the thought. Not that he had anything against their boss, but the idea of them ... together ... was so wrong on so many levels. Of course, that hadn't stopped the rumors that they were attracted to each other. And Sara had left with Grissom that morning.

"Ewwww!"

He leaned back in his chair while the CD liner printed. Greg brought his mind back to the present, wondering when to present the present to Sara. Timing would be crucial. Relying on her sympathetic nature had earned him a first date, but caution was in order.

During their coffee break, Greg had been careful to remain subdued, leaving Sara to think his feelings were still hurt. She was still feeling sorry for him, making a second date more likely. That could work in his favor for a little while, but eventually she'd get irritated at him.

Besides, he didn't want her to think he was pathetic.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Grissom darted his eyes to the side quickly. He had a hard enough time trying to read Sara's emotional state when he could observe her openly. Trying to do it subtly in a crowd that included Cavallo was proving impossible.

Sara had dated that muscle-bound, brain-dead ingrate paramedic and the muscle-bound, brainy ingrate VP on the stage. He knew she wasn't a shallow person, but that didn't stop Grissom from feeling uneasy. He really was starting to show his age. It'd be more obvious once his clothes were off.

While she'd been the one to openly express an interest in going that route, it didn't change the fact she'd end up comparing him to those two. Grissom doubted he'd fair well in that regard.

It was especially irksome considering Fuller was a first-rate jerk. Throughout his presentation, he continued to flirt with Sara, but had managed to be very tactful about it. The man had the crowd eating out of his hand.

Grissom sat up as the question session began. There was one area where he had no doubts about how he rated, and that was forensics. Time to put this guy in his place.

"Your new reagents are a little faster," Grissom said snidely, holding his thumb and index finger microscopically apart, "but most of the time in a test comes from preparing the samples. Will that change if we switch to your product?"

"No," Fuller conceded.

Grissom smirked as the crowd the muttered. His reputation in forensics was stellar. If he wasn't impressed, they wouldn't be impressed.

"How about the accuracy? Are your new tests any more accurate?"

"No."

Grissom leaned forward as he went in for the kill. The other lab supervisors were behind him.

"Well, why would anyone consider changing to your product?"

"Because the expense is less than one-third what the current tests cost."

As the appreciative ohs and ahs resounded across the room, Grissom sulked as he leaned back in his chair.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Across town, Catherine tossed in her sleep. She'd finally gone to bed after watching the disaster unfold across the street. A visibly shaken Guido had bungled every trick he tried. Children make for a vicious audience, and they had let their displeasure be known loudly. That did nothing to help with his nerves.

Finally, Horace decided to recreate the excitement from earlier in the morning. He grabbed his mother's purse and started chasing Guido around the yard, treating him like a personal piñata.

She'd watched in rapt horror; Horace was going to be in for a big surprise if he managed to knock open Guido. It wouldn't be candy he found inside.

Luckily, Lindsey had been too distracted looking for a video to notice the commotion. Catherine didn't want to explain how she'd mistakenly assaulted a clown that morning.

Despite, or because of, the three screwdrivers she had before heading to bed, Catherine's sleep was troubled. She was having nightmares of deranged little men on pink chocolate llamas chasing her through the streets of Las Vegas.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Sara tilted her head as she approached the turn off to the lab. As she suspected, Grissom was still staring at her. They had left the trade show immediately after Fuller's demonstration. The entire time, Grissom had been quiet, but he'd been watching her with a curious expression.

It was starting to get unnerving.

"What?" she finally asked.

"Are you seeing someone?"

"What?!?"

"You told Fuller you had plans for tonight before you went to work," Grissom said with a measured look. There were some things about Sara that he knew were fact: she couldn't lie well, and she had no hobbies. If she had plans, it must be with someone.

"Oh, that," she said with a smirk. "I'm going to rearrange my sock drawer."

"Socks?"

"Yeah, I'm going to arrange them by color and yarn weight. Makes it much easier to find the right pair."

"You're making fun of me."

"No, I really do sort my socks. Look, I couldn't exactly tell Ken what I wanted to with Cavallo sitting next to me."

"Oh," Grissom said, smiling as she pulled her Yukon beside his car. "In that case, well, if your sock drawer can survive another day, would you like to come over for dinner before work?"

Sara dropped her head to hide her grin. Despite his attempt to sound casual, she could tell Grissom was nervous. She was surprised; she hadn't exactly been subtle in letting him know how she felt.

"I'd like that," she said, smiling when he let out his breath.

"Do you sort your other clothes?" Grissom asked as he got ready to get in his car.

"You'll have to get in my drawers to find out," she teased as she drove away.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

_TBC_


	6. Ch 6

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:** A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:** PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_ first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Burked and Ann for beta-ing this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Once the meal was over, Sara quickly hopped up to clear away the dishes. Grissom was staring again. All through dinner, he'd looked at her questioningly, making her wonder if she had lettuce stuck in her teeth. The damned gap was problematic that way.

A quick check in the reflective surface of the toaster ruled that out. Leaving the kitchen, she found Grissom on the living room couch, his cast resting on the coffee table. He waved for her to join him, watching her expectantly as she closed the distance.

Sara was getting an idea how his bugs must feel, and it wasn't a pleasant sensation. While there wasn't any chance he was going to pin her to a board, she doubted he was going to pin her down either.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asked once she'd joined him on the couch.

Sara understood his concern now; over the past week, they'd spent several meals talking about the various issues they were working through. Since she asked him to breakfast originally, he must have thought there was another point they needed to address.

"Oh, nothing," she said, smiling sweetly. "I just wanted to hang out with you."

Sara thought the statement would put him at ease. Instead, Grissom looked mildly panicked as he shifted on the couch, his hands fumbling together as he scanned the townhouse quickly.

"Oh. I, um, I could go pick up a movie. No, it's a little late for that. We don't have time to watch it before work. Um, music. Would you like to listen to some music? We can't dance. Well, I can't dance with my ankle ..."

"Grissom, relax."

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting to entertain you," he said, starting to get up to look for a diversion.

"I'm easily amused," she said lightly, flashing him a toothy grin.

He gave her an apprehensive look before collapsing back on the couch. "I'm not an exciting person. I don't do much, Sara. You'll probably be bored."

"Socks, Grissom. Remember? It's not like I'd be having a wild party if I'd stayed home."

"You could have gone out with Ken."

"Why in God's name would I want to?" she exclaimed emphatically, causing Grissom to smile. "Come on. What would you do if I weren't here?"

"I'd be taking care of my bugs."

"Okay. I'll give you a hand."

"I thought you didn't like bugs," he asked, leading her to the room that held his comprehensive collection of caged creepy, crawling critters.

"Only when they're munching on people."

"It's a natural occurrence."

"So's a shark feeding frenzy. Or a volcanic explosion. Wouldn't want a front row seat to those, either."

Grissom gave her a smile as he directed her in the feeding of his charges, adding bits of trivia about each species. When it was clear he wasn't putting her to sleep, he started to relax. Considering her reaction to bugs at crime scenes, he'd never imagined Sara would ever share in his fascination.

"Did you ever get your komodo dragon?"

"No. The store kept running into problems getting one."

"Too bad. I always ..."

Sara stopped in mid-sentence as she caught sight of his workbench. She moved to it slowly, taking in the contents. The evidence was right there. He couldn't deny it. When she looked back, Grissom's embarrassed expression confirmed he hadn't wanted her to view this.

"I forgot that was out."

"I can't believe you would do this," she whispered softly, looking at the mutilated bugs. After a minute, she looked over her shoulder at him. "Sweet!"

Grissom beamed as he hobbled over to join her. Sara leaned over to examine the oversized plastic millipede spread out on the work surface.

"You slit all of its wrists, uh, ankles."

"Be careful. The paint is probably still wet."

"You added the blood pool. Did you do all of the bug suicides?"

"Not the hanged tarantula. You liked that so much, I decided to add some more."

"What are those?"

"Rejects. I kept accidentally amputating the millipede's feet."

"I can't believe you did this. This must have taken hours."

"Days."

"And you pouted every time I saw a new dead bug on my plant."

"I didn't want it to be obvious that I was the one leaving them. I worried that you'd figure it out when I left the pistol case-bearer moth. Those aren't common."

Sara tilted her head to smile at him. Leaving staged bug suicides for her enjoyment was creative, if a bit gruesome. Probably not a story she'd be sharing with her parents. "And you were worried I wouldn't enjoy myself."

"I'm glad you like it," he started to say, but was cut off by Sara's quick kiss.

"Thanks."

"Thank you," he managed to get out, looking at her in surprise. The kiss had been fleeting but more than enough to get his heart racing.

"Any more bugs to take care of?" she asked, thinking he was ready for a safe subject.

"No."

"We still have some time before we have to go to work. Want to go over some of those product brochures?"

"Okay."

They settled together on the couch, comparing the new equipment introduced at the forensic supply trade show. Grissom kept stealing sideways glances at Sara. His hesitation at starting a relationship was quickly eroding. For every concern he had, she showed him it wasn't a problem.

It started out innocently enough. He leaned around Sara to grab another brochure from the stack. Her neck was right there, looking exceptionally tempting. He brushed his lips lightly across the soft flesh.

Sara jerked at the unexpected touch, whipping her head around quickly. Grissom's nose bore the brunt of the motion.

"Sorry," she said softly, gently kissing his nose. "Better?"

Grissom licked his lips, smiling slightly as he pointed to them. "You hit these, too."

"Sorry," she repeated, moving her lips across his.

Somehow, they ended up sprawled on the couch, making out like a pair of hormonally gifted teenagers. Grissom was on his back, with Sara on top of him and his cast resting on the back of the sofa.

"Sara. Stop," he forced out between pants and kisses. "Work. Tonight. Us. Go."

"Oh. Right."

"I'm sorry. I do want this."

"I noticed," she said, dropping her eyes downward briefly, chuckling when he blushed. "It's very noticeable."

"You're not helping," he sighed, closing his eyes.

"Want me to give you a hand?"

"Sara!"

"Sorry," she laughed as she sat up, straightening her clothes. "I'll see you at work."

"Okay."

"No goodnight kiss?"

"Sara," he warned when she started to lean over. "We'll never get out of here if you keep that up."

"I like it up."

Grissom groaned as she made her way out of his townhouse.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

O'Riley's page came before Catherine could finish her cup of coffee. She tracked down the detective, casting warning glares at everyone who looked like they were going to snicker at her.

"What's up?"

"And good evening to you, too. Homeless guy was right. The license plate number he gave us really does belong to a red Chevy van," he said, handing her a printout. "Registered to a Ryan Severn."

"Lives on Fraternity Row. Big surprise. Dee and Dwe will be happy."

"Don't know about that."

"Why wouldn't they be glad to get that Pooka thing back? They seemed ... attached," she said delicately.

"They were here this morning."

"I know," Catherine said icily.

"They needed a police report for their insurance claim."

"So what's a pink, stuffed llama worth?"

"Half a million."

"What? Chocolate kisses?"

"Dollars."

"That sounds suspicious."

"Policy is only a few months old, too."

"I'll kill them," Catherine muttered.

"Let's go talk to frat guy first."

"Fine. Then I'll kill them."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"You're looking awful chipper."

Sara smiled at Nick before going back to work examining some clothing for trace.

"Okay, what's up?"

"What's up with what?"

"Ecklie got you a pass to the show. You blackmailing him?"

"That would require that I know something about Ecklie's personal life," she said, giving Nick a pointed stare. "I don't want to know anything about Ecklie's personal life."

"You sweet talk him? Whoa, whoa! Just kidding there, girl. He after the Red Creeper?"

"Probably."

"So?"

"What?"

"You gonna share?"

"No way, Nicky," Sara said, grinning as she turned the jacket over.

"This is so not fair. You get the Red Creeper from Grissom. You get to go to the trade show with Ecklie," Nick pouted. "They always give away the good stuff the first day."

"Yeah, they do."

"Oh, rub it in, why don't ya?"

"I am."

Nick became serious as looked around, then leaned over the table. "Did everything go okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I walked by Grissom's office earlier. He looked ... I don't know. Not himself."

"What do you mean?" Sara asked as she made a show of concentrating on the evidence.

"I don't know. He looked like ... like he didn't want to be here. And his hair was still damp, like he had taken a shower just before coming in."

"Maybe he was running late," Sara offered, trying desperately to contain her laughter. When she saw Nick give her a knowing grin, she forced a serious expression. "I'll go check on him later."

"You do that, Sar. You do that."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"You're not the stripper," a longhaired shirtless young man stated to O'Riley. He turned to Catherine.

"I'm the ex-stripper ... with the warrant."

"Whoa."

"Yeah. You Ryan Severn?"

"No, dude. He's inside. I'm Bubba. Ryan! Dude! The cops are here for you!"

Catherine and O'Riley followed the man into one of the inner rooms of the frat house. All the signs of a party were in sight – kegs of beer, bottles of whiskey, bags of chips and a pink llama.

Pooka had been dressed in a fringed sombrero and a brightly colored poncho, with a joint in her mouth. She'd been backed up against the frat house's stuffed grizzly bear in an indelicate manner.

"There's Pooka," Catherine said, jumping at a crashing sound coming from the side of the house.

They moved back to the front door, where the officers from outside appeared with Dee and Dwe. The twins were dressed in matching body suits and hats. Unfortunately, they picked a pale yellow, making them look like a pair of pared pears.

"What's going on?" she sighed.

"We're here for the reward," one of the twins stated nervously.

"To give the reward."

"They found Pooka."

"They saved Pooka."

"We're here to retrieve her."

"No harm."

"No foul."

"No need to press charges."

"No need for you to be here."

"Charges? Huh?" The group turned to see another young man descend the steps. "For what?"

"For nothing!" one of the twins piped in.

"Nothing."

"We'll take Pooka and go."

"Huh?"

"Are you Ryan Severn?" O'Riley asked.

"Yeah."

"We're here about the stolen llama."

"Did somebody steal the llama?" Ryan asked sadly, rushing back to the other room. "Huh? She's still here."

"It was stolen from these two," Catherine said as she moved in to follow him into the party room.

"What? No way, lady. They paid us to take it. Said it was performance art."

"Pooka!"

Catherine whipped around to see the pair shaking in an apoplectic rage.

"You were supposed to keep her safe."

"Secure."

"She's been defiled!"

"She's been despoiled!"

"Degraded!"

"Devastated!"

"Deflowered!"

"Debased!"

"Relax, little dudes. We were just having some fun with the fleabag."

Before anyone could react, Dee and Dwe flew at Severn, screaming at the top of their little lungs. Catherine shrugged; they hadn't been joking about being flexible.

"Get them off me! Get them off me! Owww! They're biting me."

Despite his advantage in size, Dee and Dwe were winning the battle. Severn spun around, trying to dislodge the pair, each of which had grabbed onto one of his arms and were biting his hands.

"Let go," Catherine snarled as she wrapped her arms around one of the pair. O'Riley stepped forward to help, but Severn was spinning too quickly for him to grab the other artist.

"Stop spinning! Stop biting, or I'm calling animal control!" the detective ordered.

Momentum finally won, and the twins went flying through the air. Catherine, still attached to her suspect, went along for the ride. She landed in the middle of the kegs, dislodging the taps.

"I need a vacation," she sighed as the beer drenched her from all directions.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

_TBC_


	7. Ch 7

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:** A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:** PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_ first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Burked and Ann for beta-ing this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Catherine growled audibly after seeing a flash of a flash flashing her way. Wiry Warrick wisely walked away when his wet, willowy co-worker wildly whirled his way, watching him wickedly.

Immediately after showing up, he'd made sure Catherine was uninjured, then proceeded to hurt himself restraining his laughter. While processing the scene, he made sure to take plenty of photos of her beer-soaked condition. They'd be worth gold back at the lab.

After changing into a pair of coveralls, Catherine headed towards the ambulance. On one stretcher sat Ryan Severn, whining as the paramedics tended the diminutive denticulations dotting his digits. She shot him an irritated look; the sound of a supposedly grown male whimpering was annoying. No wonder Lady Heather charged so much.

On the other stretcher, Dee and Dwe sat handcuffed together as another paramedic treated their injuries. She shuddered briefly as she approached. The beer had made their bodysuits disturbingly translucent.

O'Riley intercepted her before she could get in strangulation range, flipping through his notes as he approached.

"Okay, Dweedle Dee and Dweedle Dum are really Arnie and Ernie Lipsplatz."

"Con artists?"

"We're real artists!" called one of the twins.

"Artistes!"

"A pair of freaks," Severn muttered.

"Knock it off, kids," Catherine said in full-maternal mode.

"You must think we're a pair of crooks."

"A pair of brigands."

"A pair of demented freaks!"

"I said knock it off," she sighed, rolling her eyes at the twins' dejected looks. "Look, you filed a false police report. Insurance fraud. What do you call that?"

"Extenuating circumstances!" one of them said. Without their makeup, she couldn't tell them apart.

"A necessity!"

"A ...," his brother started, clearing his throat when Catherine glared at him. "Right. We really are artists."

"We are professionals."

"We need the money to keep our show going."

"The money isn't for us."

"It's to support the show."

"We do this for our audience."

"For the betterment of the homeless."

"To terrify them off the streets," Severn piped in, wincing when the pair hissed his way.

"We received numerous grants for our shows."

"Wait. You got paid for that ... show?" Catherine asked in disbelief.

"Yes."

"About $75,000 a year."

"Then they cut our grants."

"Without warning."

"Without notice."

"Must have caught your show," Severn said, hiding behind a female paramedic as the twins jumped off their stretcher.

"I swear I'm calling animal control for a cage," O'Riley growled as he bodily picked up the kicking pair before they could inflict more damage on the cringing frat kid.

"Be careful!"

"We bruise easily."

"These costumes tear easily!"

"God, please be careful," she muttered after the last warning.

"Now that the case is closed, will you go out with us?" one of the twins called out to Catherine as O'Riley carried them to a waiting cruiser.

"I wouldn't count on it," she said, sighing at the fresh barrage of flashes.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"You okay?"

Grissom looked up from his desk in confusion, smiling when Sara walked over with an infectious grin.

"Fine. Why?"

"Nicky was worried about you. Said you looked like you had taken a shower just before coming into work."

"Imagine that."

"I did offer to give you a hand," she teased quietly, leaning over his desk.

"You have an evil streak."

"I don't know if I'd call it evil so much as ..."

"Evil. Very evil."

"If you insist," Sara said, frowning as she tilted her head. After a moment, she located the source of the noise she'd heard softly. "What is that?"

_"Carmen_."

"Opera?"

"Yes. Don't you like it?"

"Wouldn't be my first choice," she said, giving him an apologetic look. "Say, we were supposed to go to the trade show tomorrow. I was wondering if you wanted to change plans since we already went this morning."

"Not unless you do. It's more enjoyable once all the booths are open."

"Sweet," she said, pushing off his desk to leave. Pausing at the door, she flashed him a grin. "Just stay away from the bimbos. Don't want anything to happen to your other ankle."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Grinning gregariously, Greg headed towards his DNA domain. He had walked past Grissom's office in time to hear Sara complain about his music selection. Opera! Why would anyone think Sara would like opera? It couldn't compare to the collection of songs Greg knew she liked and prepared for her.

Not that he was in competition with his supervisor. No. No way. That would be too bizarre. Greg shook his head as he walked down the hallway.

But Sara's comment couldn't have come at a better time. The personalized CD he'd made her was waiting in his boom box. He had samples from one of her cases that would be ready shortly. When she came in after his page, he'd make sure the music was playing. The timing was perfect after the opera scene.

It had to be an omen.

Greg's grin faltered as he entered his lab. _The Omen_ hadn't been a cheery movie.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Grissom looked up from his notes, sniffing cautiously. He watched as Catherine wearily sank into one of the chairs opposite of his desk.

"You're fermenting."

"Let's say I've had my fill of beer for the time being. I changed clothes at the scene, but I need a shower."

"Well, when you get done, there's a B and E at the Blue Diamond Motel that just came in. You up for it, or do you want to keep working your llama-napping?"

"Insurance fraud and assault," she corrected, taking the assignment slip. "And anything has to be better than that case. Say, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Why does everyone keep asking that?"

"I don't know. You look ...," Catherine paused. She was about to say 'frustrated', but that was a better description of her own life. "Did you and Sara have another disagreement?"

"No, Catherine."

"Really?"

Grissom took off his glasses as he stared at her. He could understand why she would be curious; given his track record, blowing things with Sara was a probable outcome. Her tone, though, suggested something else was going on.

"Why?"

"Well, there's flowers for Sara at the front desk," she said, waiting for a reaction. "Nice flowers ... Roses ... From a guy named Ken Fuller."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"We ran into him at the conference. He's someone she knew from college."

"Someone she knew, or someone she _knew_?"

"You'd have to ask Sara that," he groused, moving to examine his shelves.

"Ahh," she said knowingly, causing Grissom to give her a confused stare. His comment hadn't been revealing, so why did she look so smug?

"Look, avoiding things won't help."

"I'm not avoiding things," he said, frowning as he turned around. None of the bugs he had at the lab were voracious herbivores. If he'd gotten that set of Japanese beetles, they could have eaten the roses before Sara found out about them. Of course, Fuller would probably ask how she liked them at the conference tomorrow, so that really wasn't an option.

"Gil," she sighed.

"Catherine, there's nothing to avoid. We're fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," Grissom insisted, waving her out the door. "Get a shower. Your case is getting cold."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

After checking in with the deputy outside the motel, Catherine made her way to the gaggle of police and rescue crews gathered around the poolside. Surprisingly, a man was in the water, despite the night's chill.

As she got closer, Catherine shook her head. She could barely bear to look at the bare bear of a man. He was hairy enough to actually qualify as having a pelt. No wonder the cold didn't bother him.

"What's up?" she asked the detective, forcing her mind back to work.

"Paul Rubin, nightshift desk clerk," he said, nodding towards the pool. "While he was in the pool, someone broke into the lobby and stole the night's receipts."

"Okay, Mr. Rubin, I'll need for you to get out of the pool."

"I can't," he said sheepishly.

"He's stuck," the detective said vaguely.

"How can you get stuck in the swimming pool?"

"The intake pipe for the vacuum," the detective replied, pointing towards his own nether regions. "He was looking for a little, uh, relief."

"Ewww," she replied, giving the clerk a dirty look. She'd never let Linds near a public pool again.

"Nightshift. It really ruins your social life," Rubin offered.

"I don't need details," Catherine said, rubbing her forehead. No way was she climbing into the water tonight. Her hair was already shot from the beer soaking. The chlorine on top of it would be too much. "Have you tried turning off the vacuum?"

"First thing they tried. He's stuck."

"Well, those intake pipes aren't very big," she said, not caring that she was adding insult to Rubin's injury.

"We're going to have to use a jackhammer to get to where he's stuck in the pipe. We'll cut it off ..."

"What?!"

"The pipe, Mr. Rubin, the pipe."

"Oh," he said in obvious relief. Looking up, he paid attention to Catherine for the first time. He liked what he saw. "Say, you work nights, too. How about ..."

"Don't go there, or I'll be the one doing the cutting," she warned. Nervously, she started looking around the perimeter.

"Something wrong?" the detective asked.

"No," she sighed, glad that Warrick wasn't anywhere in sight with the camera.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

_TBC_


	8. Ch 8

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:** A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:** PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_ first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Burked and Ann for beta-ing this chapter.

And for those who have asked: the alliteration started by accident. Now if I have a chapter without it, I get upset e-mails from readers! 

**Disclaimer:** If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 8 **

Shift was nearly over when Sara entered the DNA lab, smiling at the sight that was before her. Behind his bench, Greg's bumptious bum bounced boisterously to the brash beat being blared by the brassy boy's battered boom box.

She started singing with the chorus, picking up the CD case before hopping on a stool. Greg jumped around quickly and swore silently. His carefully practiced look of surprise had been wasted; Sara hadn't been watching him.

"Good tunes."

"You like those?" he asked, trying to buy some time. His previously thought out strategy was starting to look as viable as a frog surviving a biology lab at the Marquis DeSade High School for Demented Youths.

Chess was a game of maneuvering one opponent into the position you wanted. He shook his head as images of the positions he wanted Sara floated through his mind. He needed to concentrate. Someone else was trying to hop on board and put the moves on his Sara. This Ken guy had even resorted to biological warfare – he'd sent roses. Now wasn't the time to be timid.

"Yeah. I love all these songs."

"Well, then, my sweet, this is for you," Greg said dramatically as he pulled the CD from the player.

"You don't have to do that."

"It's no trouble. Consider it my 'thank you' for the great time we had."

Sara cocked her head to give him a baffled look. "When did we have a great time?"

"On our da ... when we went out for coffee during break."

"Oh. That," she said, giving him an odd look. "Uh. Okay. Sweet."

"Yes, I am. Want to find out how sweet?"

Greg turned back to his monitor quickly. That had been the wrong thing to say. The look Sara was giving him made the tech worry about the safety of Roscoe and the twins.

"You page me for a reason, Greggo?"

"Ah, yes, I did. This is for you, too" he said, quickly handing her a printout. "There was a hit on CODIS. Hope that helps your case."

"Oh, yeah. Creep said he'd never been near the house before."

"Good, good," he said, chewing his lip nervously. He needed to make a recovery.

"You going to kill me over that crack?"

"Not today."

"In that case, let me get you breakfast. Show there's no hard feelings."

"I, uh, already have plans."

"Well, why don't you come over to my place sometime? I have a great music collection. Stuff you'd actually like to listen to. Nothing like opera. I could fix us a nice manicotti, chill some wine ..."

Greg paused as his mind registered the clopping sound that had been approaching. Turning his head, he found Grissom balancing on his crutches as he pulled some evidence bags from his jacket pocket.

"These get top priority," Grissom said dryly. "If you can fit it into your social schedule."

"I'll get right on it."

"That's probably a good idea," he said, turning to look at Sara with an eyebrow raised quizzically.

"Thanks for the CD, Greg."

"No problem," he sighed as Sara followed Grissom out of his lab.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Catherine closed her eyes against the cacophony of sound that was assaulting her. She was trying to dust the cash register in the motel lobby. The room was two-storied, with an open loft that was currently filled with irate customers.

Outside, the rescue crew was using a pneumatic hammer to chip away the concrete to expose the pool's intake pipe. Even though they had tossed blankets over Rubin to protect him from flying cement, Catherine swore she could still hear his moaning.

She sighed as she went back to work. They were cutting the pipe well away from the edge of the pool. If Rubin were in any danger of getting cut at that distance, he'd have made a fortune in the adult film industry.

"Hey, chickie!"

Catherine paused in her work to glare at a retiree shaking his cane threateningly from the loft. He'd have been more imposing if he hadn't been wearing hot pink pajamas emblazoned with "Sexy Senior Stud".

"You talking to me?"

"You see any other chickies down there?"

"With or without a gun?"

"Uhhh."

"My name is Catherine Willows. I'm a level-three criminalist."

"Didn't they have anyone first-rate to send?"

"What can I do for you?" she asked, deciding not to waste her time correcting his misperceptions.

"You going to refund our money, Level-three Chickie Willows?"

"Nope."

"You're keeping us awake! We paid to sleep. We want out money back."

"Sorry," she said as she gathered the last of her evidence and pointed to the empty cash register. "Money's all gone."

"This isn't fair!"

"You have no idea," Catherine agreed.

"I'm going to complain to your supervisor."

"I'm the only Chickie Willows on staff. He'll know who you mean."

Heading outside, she found the rescue crew had exposed the pipe and cut it. A pair of them were in the water helping Rubin back up as another fireman was pulling out the two-foot section of pipe in which the clerk was still stuck.

After getting him out of the pool – much to the amusement of the crowd that had given up on sleeping and decided to catch a show only Vegas could offer – the rescue crew wrapped him in blankets.

"It feels so good to get out of the water," Rubin said with a blush. The multiple blankets did nothing to hide the pipe.

"You'll feel better once we get that pipe off," said a fireman who was approaching with a hacksaw.

"What are you going to do with that?"

"You're really, uhh, wedged in there. We have to cut the pipe in half lengthwise to get you out."

"No!" he shrieked. "What if you cut too far?"

"Well sir, the only other option is to take you to the hospital ..."

"Do it!"

" ... where the doctor will drain the blood by inserting a large-bore needle ..."

"No!"

Catherine growled as Rubin grabbed her hand desperately.

"Can't you do something?"

"What do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know. Maybe if you ..."

"Don't even think about it buddy," Catherine said, shooting a warning look at a chortling deputy. She was going to kill Gil when she got back to the lab.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

At the end of shift, Sara darted into the locker room to grab her bag. She'd spent part of the night dumpster-diving and needed to head home for a shower and change of clothes before meeting Grissom at the trade show.

More importantly, she needed to swing by the drug store. Things were getting heated between them, and she didn't want to ruin the eventual moment because they weren't prepared.

"Sara, I have to admit you surprise me."

"That's nice," she said, darting her eyes as Ecklie leaned against the row of lockers.

"Everyone thought you were leaving because Grissom's an ass, and it turns out it's because the two of you had a lover's spat."

"We did what?"

"I have to give you two credit. In a building full of investigators, no one caught on. You were very discreet."

"No, we weren't."

"You weren't?"

Sara raised an eyebrow slowly at Ecklie's suggestive tone. "We weren't lovers. We aren't lovers. There was no lover's spat."

"I know what I saw," he replied, but with less confidence. After watching them earlier, Ecklie guessed that had been their trouble. He'd hoped to rattle Sidle into admitting it. Now he wasn't so sure he'd been right.

"I don't know what you saw, Conrad," she said with fake sweetness, "but I know who's been in my bed. And who hasn't. Want to hook up the polygraph?"

"No. Sara, I don't have to tell you the ... difficulties ... that could arise from being involved with a supervisor."

"No, you don't," she said, heading out of the locker room. Sara didn't look back as she rounded the corner. She'd planned on going to Grissom's office, but it would probably be better to call him from her Yukon.

Lost in her thoughts of trying to figure out what Ecklie could have seen, she nearly plowed into Grissom.

"Hey. You okay?"

"Fine," she replied, whipping her head around to make sure Ecklie wasn't in sight. "I have to run home. I'll met you at the conference, okay?"

"How long will you be?"

"Shouldn't take more than an hour."

"How about I pick you up at your apartment? We can grab breakfast."

"Okay. Watch out for Ecklie," she said softly before heading out of the lab.

Grissom watched her go, pursing his lips in confusion. With a shrug, he decided it would be easier to just ask her what was going on later. He did a quick mental calculation. If he went straight to the bookstore, he'd have just enough time to swing by the pharmacy before heading to Sara's apartment.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Warrick forced a serious expression on his face as he made his way into the break room. Catherine was sitting at the table slowly sipping her coffee. He'd already transferred the digital photos he'd taken of her at the frat house to a CD. Archie was promising to have copies for everyone by the start of next shift.

He took a seat across from her and reached out to place a comforting hand on hers. When she looked up, Warrick gave her a soulful look.

"Hey. You holding up okay?"

"Yeah."

"Rough cases, weren't they?"

"Yeah."

"Sure you're okay ... chickie?"

"Yep," she sighed, not surprised at the speed of the lab's rumor mill.

"Want to go grab a beer?"

"I think I had my limit for the day."

"How about a movie? Wanna go watch Willie Wonka?"

"I think I'm going straight home."

"You're not going to the trade show? Bet they have all kinds of lubricants for getting stuck guys unstuck."

"A hacksaw works wonders," she said slyly, smiling sweetly at his squirming. "I even have photos."

"Huh?"

"Here," she said earnestly as she pushed a folder to him. He wasn't the only one who carried a digital camera around. "Here they are cutting it off. In this one, you can see they went a little ..."

"Owwww!"

"Well, look at this one. Rubin jerked a little bit. He was nervous."

"Dammit, Cath!" Warrick said, pushing the photos away. He shook his limbs in sympathy for what the clerk had gone through. That had to be painful.

"Well, it was the hacksaw or the hospital. They'd take this huge needle," she added, moving her hands well apart. "And stick it ..."

"Stop it!" Warrick exclaimed as he jumped up. "You are evil."

"Tell you what. You don't show the beer photos, and I won't talk about this case every single time we meet."

"Deal," he muttered sadly, wondering what it would cost him to get the CD back from Archie.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Sara gave Grissom a baffled look as she opened the door to his car. A gift bag sat on the passenger's seat. She picked it up so she could slide into the spot, tilting her head as she fastened the safety belt.

"Seems to be your day for getting presents," he said with a small smile.

"You didn't have to do that," she said, pulling out a handful of CDs. She turned to give him a mock-glare. "You really didn't. Opera. And _'The Idiots Guide to Opera'_. You think I'm an idiot?"

"Only about opera. And maybe about the mating rituals of beetles."

"You could teach me about mating," she said innocently, smiling when he turned to give her an amused look. "Beetle mating rituals."

"After opera. You need a basic understanding to be able to appreciate opera. I think you might like it, if you give it a chance. If not," he said, reaching to the back seat. "I picked up some music you do like. I checked the cover of that CD Greg gave you."

"You're something else," Sara said, smiling as he slipped the disk into the player. Humming softly, she opened the book to begin reading it. "How did you get into opera?"

"My mother," he answered softly. "She always listened to it when I was young."

Sara glanced over at him. He sounded wistful. She wondered if there was more to that story. Her smiled widened as she went back to the book.

"So, what about operettas?"

"What about them?" Grissom asked with a smile as he watched Sara study the book intently.

"Was your mother a fan of those?_ 'Pirates of Penzance'_,_ 'H.M.S. Pinafore',_ stuff like that."

"Yes, she was. Why?"

"I was wondering if your middle name is Sullivan," she replied mischievously from behind the book. When he let out a pained groan, she flashed him a toothy grin. "I'll behave."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"You don't sound disappointed."

Grissom merely gave her a quick look.

"Why did you tell me to watch out for Conrad?"

"He thinks we're having an affair."

"That's ridiculous."

"Oh?"

"To be having an affair, at least one of us would have to be married. Is there something you haven't told me?'

"All kinds of things. No husband, though."

"Not yet," he said, shocking her as he pulled into the garage of the hotel hosting the show. Sara followed him silently into the building. When she started to head to the breakfast buffet, he called her towards the bank of elevators.

"They serve a champagne brunch here every day," Grissom said as the doors closed. He smiled as he gave her a tender look. "I'd say after last night that we're ... dating. I figured it was time I took you on a date."

Sara dropped her eyes before starting to chuckle and quickly scanning the moving room.

"How many cameras do you think are in here?"

"Why?" he asked, his mouth going dry as he recalled her adventures in an airplane bathroom. He licked his lips as he mimicked her motions of scanning the elevator, hoping she wasn't planning what he feared. Even if he weren't on crutches, he could never do something like that.

She laughed harder when she realized the reason for his nervous expression.

"I feel like kissing you, but with my luck the elevator would break down. We'd have to get rescued. The whole lab would end up with copies of the tape," she said reassuringly. "I'm not into exhibition."

"Good."

"You're safe in elevators."

"We can do that later. Kiss, I mean."

"I'll hold you to that."

"I hope so," Grissom said suggestively as she exited the elevator.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

_TBC_


	9. Ch 9

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:** A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:** PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_ first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Burked and Ann for beta-ing this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 9 **

Walking into the trade show, Sara wondered if she had had too much to drink at breakfast. Giggling girlishly, she giddily gazed at the garrulous gathered gang of gleefully grinning geeks, gaily gliding guilelessly along the gibbering gallery of gimmicky gimcracks, graduated gauges, gleaming gizmos, gaudy gadgets, glistening geegaws and galore of other grand goods.

"Champagne," she explained when Grissom gave her an amused look. "Gets me this way."

"I'll have to remember that."

"I'll remind you."

"I'll look forward to it."

"So will I."

They exchanged grins as they made their way towards the booths. Examining the latest forensic tools was always enjoyable, but Grissom found it even more pleasant with Sara. Stealing occasional glances her way, he was glad to see her still smiling as the morning progressed.

Grissom was politely trying to turn down a portable pH meter - inexplicably shaped like a bugged-eyed chili pepper - when he heard Sara's quiet swearing. Turning around, he spotted Fuller, his arms full of giveaways, rapidly approaching.

"Sara!"

"Hey, Ken."

"I've been looking all over for you."

"Really?" she asked innocently. They'd made a point of avoiding the TriSci booth so she wouldn't have to deal with Fuller's attentions.

"Of course. Did you get the flowers?"

"Yeah. Uh, thanks. You shouldn't have."

"Least I could do for the most memorable gal from one of my labs."

"Gee. Thanks," she said, directing an eye roll at Grissom as her ill-timed ex-lover leaned in to give her a kiss.

"Oh, can I have some of those?" Fuller asked the vendor with the capsicum-shaped meters. When Grissom gave him a bewildered look, he shrugged. "Ankle biters. They'll want stuff as souvenirs."

Sara regarded him icily. "Kids? Do you have a wife, too?"

"Two? No, I have three of them," he said, laughing loudly at his joke. "All exes."

"You've been married, and divorced, three times already?"

"Yeah. After I got married, found out it wasn't as fun as I thought it would be."

"I wonder what your exes think," Grissom said softly, giving Sara a pointed look.

"Huh? So, Sara, are you free tonight?"

"I still work night shift."

"You have to have a little free time."

Sara resisted the urge to point out that, with Fuller, a little time was all that was needed. Even though she was at the trade show on her own time, she was still representing the lab. Insulting one of their vendors, while tempting, wouldn't be a smart move.

Besides, she could tell Grissom was getting irritated. It wouldn't be long before he made a comment to Ken, and this was neither the time nor the place to announce their change in status.

"Actually, I'm sorta seeing someone."

"So?"

"What?"

"This guy wouldn't mind if you showed an old friend a little fun, would he? I'm only in town for another day."

"Really, Sara. He wouldn't mind, would he? Why don't you ask?"

Hearing the new voice, Sara turned slowly around to see Grissom mimicking her movements. Behind them, Ecklie stood leaning against a booth, his arms crossed over his chest and smiling ingratiatingly at them.

Spotting her unsuspecting savior sauntering into the show, Sara smiled salaciously, saying syrupily, "I already know what the answer will be. Sorry, Ken. I can't tell you what it was like to see you again. Grissom, page me if you need help carrying anything. Bye!"

The trio watched as she bolted across the room to enthusiastically grab Nick's arm and lead him to the other side of exhibition.

"Sidle's seeing Stokes?"

Grissom blinked before grinning. He understood exactly what Sara was trying to do. "It's news to me, too," he answered honestly. "But I don't waste time on inter-office gossip."

His grin deepened as the barely-dressed cocktail waitress from the day before winked at him as she passed. "You never did print me."

"I love my job," he sighed as he hobbled after her.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"And 'hello' to you, too, darlin'! Miss me that much?"

"Shut up," Sara sighed as she linked her arm in Nick's, narrowing her eyes when she saw Grissom chasing after the blonde bimbo. They needed to throw Ecklie off, but he didn't have to be so damn energetic about it.

"You're using me," Nick teased, grinning as he caught both her and Ecklie's expressions.

"Just borrowing you."

"I don't think I like this."

"Come on."

"No. Think about it. I could meet the woman of my dreams here. How would I explain this?"

"Don't worry, Nicky. No one here looks inflatable."

"Now, if you're going to be that way," he warned, smiling evilly as he started to unlink their arms.

"Nick ..."

"Nope, nope. You're usin' _and_ abusin' me. I think I deserve some compensation."

"Like what?" Sara asked cautiously.

"Oh, the formula for Red Creeper would be a good start."

"Okay."

"Really?" he asked in surprise.

"Sure. I'll just tell Grissom you blackmailed me into giving it to you."

"You wouldn't."

"Don't worry; it's not like he holds a grudge or anything."

"You wouldn't," Nick repeated slowly, frowning when Sara raised a challenging eyebrow. "Hell, who am I kiddin'? Of course, you would."

"Welcome to the big leagues."

"I still get something."

"What?" she sighed in resignation.

"What's up with this Ken Fuller?"

"He's someone I knew in college."

"Uh, huh."

"It's the truth."

"And he remembers you, and he sent you roses. You hadda make a good impression on him. I want the whole story."

Sara growled as she calculated the odds that Nick wouldn't spread the story of her initiation into the Mile High Club. She didn't like the result. "I'll take my chances with Ecklie."

"Sara Sidle! You dawg! I knew you had to have a wild side."

Sara closed her eyes as she drug Nick into a quieter area of the convention hall. The truth couldn't be worse that what he was imagining. She hoped.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Behind a display of Erlenmeyer flasks, Greg shook his head slowly as he spied Nick throwing his head back in laughter. Sara's punching his arm only increased his howls. Something was very, very wrong.

First, he'd overheard Ecklie's accusation to Sara in the locker room. The day shift supervisor was many things: arrogant, condescending, overbearing, hirsutically-challenged, but he was also a good CSI. If he thought Grissom and Sara were ... together ... he had to have good evidence.

Greg shuddered at the thought. Now, Sara had grabbed Nick in a manner that exceeded friendship and pulled him into an isolated area of the room. It was like she was trying to throw Ecklie off the track. But that would mean his suspicions had to be correct, and that was an idea Greg refused to believe.

So, did that mean Sara was seeing Nick in a more-than-friendly manner? The tech shuddered again. There couldn't be anything ... going on ... between them. That idea was almost as bad as Grissom and Sara ... getting it on.

Besides, Nick had even hinted in the locker room that his new girlfriend was extremely hot in bed.

"Whoa," Greg moaned, shaking his head to clear the images. No, that couldn't be right. Nick and Sara? That was practically incest.

"Give it up. You're out of your league," Archie sighed.

"In a minute," Greg replied, twisting his head, to watch as Nick bent over laughing, ignoring the deadly glare Sara was directing at him.

"Come on," the A/V tech said, physically dragging his counterpart along. "Let's check out the new audio equipment. I'm getting a new set of speakers later. Wanna tag along?"

"I thought you were broke."

"I was," Archie said with a grin. Returning the CD of pictures of Catherine was worth the money Warrick threw at him. Besides, he already copied them to his hard drive. Who knew when they would come in handy?

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Grissom followed Sara nervously into her apartment. Once Ecklie got called out on a case, they'd rejoined and finished the tour of the show. As fun as the day had been, he was glad it was over. His body ached from spending so much time on crutches.

When they pulled into her apartment complex, she'd invited him up for coffee. He hesitantly accepted. As much as he wanted to move their relationship forward, Grissom was still leery. He still had trouble believing she wanted him, and a not-so-small part of his mind feared she'd regret the decision.

After starting the coffee, Sara watched as Grissom rolled his shoulders as he sat on the couch. Moving to sit sideways beside him, she directed him to take his jacket and shirt off.

"Why?"

"Relax," she said, shifting him so his back was to her. "If I were going to seduce you, I'd take my shirt off. Not that there's much there."

Grissom looked over his shoulder as he unbuttoned his shirt, running his eyes over her form in a lingering manner. "You're perfect."

"You're a flatterer," she said, but leaned forward to place a quick kiss on his neck before she began massaging his shoulders. Sara smiled at his appreciative groans as she worked out the knots in his muscles. She remembered how badly her shoulders hurt when she spent too much time on crutches.

She stopped when the coffee finished brewing, shaking her head slightly when she returned with the mugs to find he'd already had his shirt back on. Settling on the couch beside him, she gave him a friendly smile as she tried to determine what was bothering him.

"Everything okay?"

"Fine. Coffee's delicious."

"You worried about Ecklie?"

"No. I don't think Cavallo would be too impressed that one of his supervisors is spying on the personal lives of two other CSIs. Besides, as long as we keep it out of the lab, they don't have a reason to complain."

"Does that thing with Ken bother you?"

"I can't figure out what you ever saw in him," Grissom said, giving her an appraising look.

"That makes two of us," she quipped. "Consider Ken Fuller a delayed rebellion. I was always the good kid. Never got in trouble in school. My last semester in college, I realized I'd never done any of the stuff kids were supposed to do. I never thought I'd run into him again."

"Uh, huh."

Sara gave him a smirk before leaning forward to kiss him softly. "Why are we talking about Ken?"

"I don't know," Grissom responded as he wrapped his arms around her and leaned forward to run his lips across her neck. Where their last make-out session had been hot and heavy, this time he kept his kisses soft and gentle, savoring each one. Before things progressed too far, he pulled back, tenderly brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"I have to go. I'll see you at work," Grissom said softly.

"Okay," she said in confusion. Why had Grissom stopped? She'd made sure she hadn't eaten anything with onions or garlic as a precaution. Was he being a gentleman? She'd let him know she was ready to progress.

She cocked her head as he slowly made his way to the door. The accident that had broken his ankle had been a little over a week ago. Maybe he was hurt more than he'd let on, or he was still sore. Either way, she wasn't going to push him.

"Uh. I have court tomorrow. We're both off tomorrow night. Would you like to come over for dinner? Nothing fancy. I can throw something together."

"I'd like that. Goodnight," he said with a final kiss.

"Night," she replied quietly.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Catherine sipped her coffee quietly as she examined the latest addition to the break room. Whoever was leaving these dead bugs had a twisted sense of humor. A millipede with slit ankles?

"What's up?"

"Someone left you another 'gift'," Catherine said to Sara.

"Oh? Cute."

"Yeah. You doing this?"

"Me?"

"To get to Gil? The guy is dense, but I think he's gotten the message by now."

"I'm not leaving these," Sara answered with a smirk as she went to get her coffee.

"So, things okay between you two?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Say, would you mind switching nights off? I really need a break."

Sara turned to her colleague with a sympathetic shrug. She'd heard about the cases she'd been stuck with.

"Sorry. I already have plans for tomorrow."

"Oh, well. Hey, Gil! I really need a favor."

"What?" he asked, giving Sara a brief nod as he entered the break room.

"Can we switch nights off? Tomorrow for my day off on Saturday?"

"I already have plans, Catherine."

"Really? Both of you have plans for tomorrow night," she drawled, looking between the two of them. When they both blushed as they hid behind their coffee mugs, her grin grew. "Imagine that."

The pair were spared further embarrassment when Nick walked in, Warrick dragging in gloomily behind him.

"Hey, Chickie!"

"Drop it, Nick. Please, drop it," Warrick whispered.

"Got some pictures for you to look at later, Nicky."

"I can't wait."

"Don't go there, man. You don't want to see them."

"Does anyone want to work tonight?" Grissom asked as he fished out the assignments. "Sara, you have an assault over in Boulder City. Nick, Warrick there's a DB at the Frontier. Catherine, you get a food fight ..."

"No way! No! You thought you were funny with that last case. I'm taking the assault," she said, pulling the assignment sheet from Sara's hand and leaving the room.

Sara turned to glare at Grissom. He shrugged apologetically.

"I was trying to be nice to her. The food fight turned into a multiple shooting."

"Anyone killed?"

"No. Witnesses say at least three semi-automatic weapons were pulled out. They shot up the cafe, the street lights, the cars parked outside, but no one got hit."

"Great shots."

"I'll tag along."

"Why?" Sara asked as they made their way to the parking lot.

"I don't want to do paperwork."

"Isn't it too soon for you to be back in the field?"

"I'll let you do all the hard work."

"Thanks."

"I know you live for it."

"You're too kind," she smirked as she hopped in the Denali. "You know, Catherine is going to get upset when she finds out she passed on this case."

Grissom shrugged as he climbed in awkwardly. "It was her choice. Besides. What could go wrong on an assault case?"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

_TBC_


	10. Ch 10

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:** A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:** PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_ first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Burked and Ann for beta-ing this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 10 **

Catherine took in her surroundings carefully. Her noggin nodded knowingly as she neared the nonpareil house, notably noble and noticeably neurotically neat, in the nondescript neighborhood; she was no nervous neophyte, nevertheless, numerous gnarled nude gnomes, nuzzling nastily in knurled niches, necessitated a nimble nocturnal navigation through the noxious narrows neighboring the neglected next-door nook.

Following the sounds of voices, she made her way to the back of the nice house, frowning as she went. 'Nice' implied someone who took care of the property. This place gave her the impression of a mad homeowner who combed the lawn and used electrical shocks to train the birds to do their business across the street.

Rounding the corner, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly. A clearly distraught man was giving his statement to the police. In his arms, a young girl of about 14 was crying. She always hated these types of cases.

Steeling herself, she walked up and introduced herself. Catherine went down on one knee and gave the girl a reassuring smile before asking what happened.

"That … that … cur!" her father yelled emotionally, gesturing across the fence. "That good for nothing mongrel that lives in that filth next door sneaked over when I wasn't home and assaulted my baby! My little Lulu is ruined!"

"It wasn't like that, Daddy."

"Hush, pumpkin. The police will take care of it now."

"But Daddy…"

"I said hush! It's about time someone took care of the disgusting half-breed…"

"Don't call Jack that, Daddy!"

"I'll call him exactly what he is! This neighborhood will be better once he's gone."

Catherine stood up slowly, following the father's finger to take in the accused assailant. His scarred face clearly indicated he'd been on the losing side of more than a few fights. Dark, dirty hair nearly obscured his beady eyes.

"Yip, yip!" he barked.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Grissom shifted uncomfortably on his crutches as he drew in the schematic of their crime scene. With his limited mobility, he knew he should have stayed in the lab, but he was getting sick of paperwork. Of course, paperwork was all he could manage at their crime scene, but at least he was doing it with Sara.

Several blinks and a quick shake of his head cleared that visual from his mind. He was already standing out at the crime scene as it was. Unfortunately, Sara caught his motion, and she began to move back in his direction.

The corner of Grissom's lip went up as he worked on the diagram. All night she'd been doting on him, making sure he didn't overexert himself. At the same time, she'd been careful not to be obvious that she was doting.

Moving up to him, Sara quickly ran her eyes over him, before making a show of double-checking a measurement on the schematic.

"Subtle, Sidle."

"You okay? Need a break?"

"I'm fine."

"Uh, huh," she said, looking around to make sure they were alone before running her hand over his shoulders. She gave him a frown when he winced. "Sore?"

"A little," he grudgingly admitted.

"That's what you get for chasing the bimbo around the convention yesterday."

"I didn't chase her."

"Okay, you quickly and energetically followed her around," Sara quipped, grinning as she packed away her tape measure.

"Funny, you don't see me complaining about you hanging on Nick."

"Ugh! That is so wrong."

"Ecklie thought you made a cute couple," he teased back.

"Keep that up, crutch-boy, and you won't be getting another massage."

Before he could respond, Grissom was interrupted by Warrick's unannounced arrival.

"Hey, guys."

"What happened to your DB?" Grissom asked curiously.

"He woke up."

"Bummer," Sara said. "For you. Not for him."

"Yeah," he chuckled. "I think David nearly had a heart attack when the guy jumped when he felt for a pulse. He was drunk. Passed out in the hotel."

"Where's Nick?"

"Guy got robbed while he was out. Nick's handling that. You need a hand here?"

"Yes," Grissom answered. As much as he enjoyed spending the time with Sara, he had to admit he was probably slowing her down. Things would go faster with another able-bodied CSI. Besides, he needed to take a break. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Take your time," Sara called out, watching as he headed toward the Denali. "I hope he didn't overdo it. He shouldn't have come out in the field."

"He's keeping an eye on you."

Sara looked over to see Warrick giving her a playful look. "Fuller's still in town."

"Right," she said slowly, moving to bag shell casings, ignoring Warrick as he crouched beside her.

"Did you and Grissom do the bathroom yet?"

"What exactly did Nick tell you?" she sighed.

"None of the good details."

"He'd better not! I didn't tell him any details."

"Oh, I think we can figure it out."

"Nick I can see being that juvenile. You, too?"

"Hey, can't pick on Catherine."

"Why not? With those cases she's had…"

"She has photos," Warrick said quietly.

"Of you?" Sara asked, now smiling slyly at him.

"No. Of that guy stuck in the pipe. Ewwww," he said with a shudder.

Sara grinned as she worked her way towards the front of the room. "You know, I had cases like that in San Francisco. Guys with pipe problems."

"You did?"

"Yeah. Of course, gerbils were usually involved."

"No way," he insisted.

"True story. Frat hazing that went way wrong."

"Uh-uh."

"When we get back to the lab, I'll e-mail San Francisco. Have copies of the photos sent."

"You're lying," Warrick said hopefully.

"You wanna bet?"

Letting out a sigh, he moved to the other side of the room to start dusting tables, leaving a grinning Sara alone.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip…"

"Can't you keep him quiet?" Catherine asked sharply.

"Jack's upset," the man holding him replied. She screwed her face up as she watched them. Jack looked to be a mix between a toy poodle and a Chihuahua, with a distinct possibility of having sewer rat among his ancestors. He also bore a remarkable likeness to his owner.

"Okay, let me get this straight: Jack," she said pointing to the scrappy dog, "assaulted Lulu." She turned to look at the girl, but refrained from pointing at her. "What's your name?"

"Tiffany-Tennille."

"Okay, Tiffany …."

"Tiffany-Tennille!" she exclaimed with a foot stomp.

"Okay," Catherine said, all sympathy she felt for the girl starting to evaporate. "Where's Lulu?"

"She's locked up," the girl said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What?"

"In her kennel."

"Lulu's a dog?" Catherine asked in disbelief as she followed them across the lawn.

"A dog? Lady Wofferton's Precious Tallulah Antoinette is a champion!" the father huffed. "And she's ruined!"

Coming to an enclosure, Catherine was greeted by a large growling Rottweiller with a litter of what could possibly be pups.

"Look at that! They're … they're … they're mutts!"

"They're adorable, Daddy."

"You called the police because your dog got knocked up by the neighbor's, uh, pet?" Catherine asked, not quite willing to call the animal a canine. "That isn't exactly a crime."

"He didn't just 'knock her up'," the father hissed. "Look at this kennel. Even that pathetic excuse for a dog couldn't get in here. He had to be let in."

"Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip ..."

"Can't you calm him down?" Catherine asked, walking over to the fence.

"He's a proud papa!"

Catherine looked at the minute mutt and back to the oversized mother.

"Jack's very nimble," the man offered, sensing the source of her confusion. "And I didn't let him in with your bitch!"

"Well, how did he get in? Don't tell me he's nimble!"

"Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip…"

"Look, sir, calm down," Catherine suggested sagely. "So you can't sell these puppies. What's the big deal?"

"Lulu's ruined!"

"Don't you think you're exaggerating?"

"No! Don't you know anything woman? Once a purebred dog has a litter of mixed parentage, the AKC no longer recognizes future litters."

"You have got to be kidding me. Why?"

"I don't know! It's their rules. What I am going to do?"

"Don't tell the AKC," she suggested. "If you don't tell them, how will they know?"

"I paid the stud fee…"

"You think the owner wants it to get out that his stud was, uh, less nimble than Jack over there?"

"That could work. What about this litter?"

"Can we keep them, Daddy? You never let me keep any of her puppies," the girl pleaded. "Please?"

"I suppose," he sighed, heading back to the house in defeat.

Catherine watched as his daughter smiled evilly, before going over to pet Jack. "Good boy, Jack. Yes, you are!"

Heading back to her Denali, Catherine couldn't shake the feeling she'd be seeing a lot of Tiffany-Tennille in the future.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Hey," Grissom offered as Sara opened her apartment door.

"Hey, yourself. Dinner's almost ready."

"Chinese or pizza?" he teased, smiling as he made his way to the breakfast bar.

"I can cook," she said with a mock-glare. "I only do it on special occasions."

"Is this a special occasion?"

"I hope so," she replied lightly. "What's in the backpack?"

"I brought some wine. I didn't know whether to bring red or wine," he said as he settled on a stool.

"Not champagne?"

"I didn't want to be presumptuous."

"You wouldn't have been."

"I'll remember that," he replied softly, taking the bottles from the backpack. Grissom was careful not to let Sara see the change of clothes he'd used to pad the bottles. She may have found that hope to be presumptuous.

While she set the white wine in the fridge to chill, Grissom quickly scanned the apartment. One of the opera CDs he'd given her was playing softly on the stereo. On the breakfast bar sat a small stack of books on music.

"Do you like the CDs?"

Sara gave him a smile. "They're not bad. I don't think opera will ever be my favorite, though."

"You don't have to listen to them."

"I don't mind."

"How did you court case go?" he asked.

"It didn't. Defense stalled all day long. Have to go back in the morning."

"Did you get any sleep today?"

"Not yet," she said with a grin. "Ready to eat?"

"Yes. And it smells wonderful," Grissom said honestly.

"Wait until you try it."

"Oh, I'm ready to try it."

Sara flashed him a smile as they settled for the meal. When Grissom paused suddenly, she gave him a curious look. "Everything okay?"

"Did you ever get the feeling you forgot to do something?"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Catherine sighed as she sank into Grissom's chair, shaking her head at the piles of paper on his desk. Even after spending the better part of week on it, he was still behind. She wondered briefly what she'd find if she made it to the bottom of stack; there'd probably be an original map of the Louisiana Purchase down there.

Shoving aside some folders, she made room for her coffee mug, and settled in for a night of paperwork. It was boring, but after this past week she was looking forward to a calm evening of filling out forms.

"Hey, Grissom! You're not Grissom."

"Very observant, Bobby."

"Is he or Sara around?"

"Nope, they're both off. What's up?"

"That shooting they worked yesterday? One of the guns used was also used in a gang murder."

"You don't say," she said archly. When she'd gotten back from the lab the night before, she'd discovered Grissom had saved the shooting for her. Of course, if he hadn't been a smart ass about it, she wouldn't have stormed out of the break room with her doggy-style assault.

"Yeah! And Greg found DNA on the shell casings. Looks like they're going to break this case open."

"That's just great."

"I'll call them and let them know."

"Nah," she sighed. Knowing those two, they'd end their evening plans if they knew about this. Considering how long it took them to get to this point, she wasn't taking any chances. It was getting annoying watching them fumble around each other. "They need the night off. They can do it tomorrow. Go. Shoo."

Settling back down, Catherine picked up the first form, gently serenaded by the sounds of crickets.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Uh. Yeah. That feels good," Grissom moaned.

"Relax," Sara implored from her position straddling him.

"I'm trying."

"You still think you forgot something?" Sara asked as she worked out another knot from his shoulders.

"Yeah," came his muffled reply from the couch's throw pillow. He let out another round of appreciative sounds as Sara continued her massage. When she stopped and got off his back, he slowly rolled over. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now what could you have possibly forgotten that was so important?"

"I don't know," he sighed, scooting up to sit in the corner of the couch. He smiled when Sara moved up beside him.

"Did you let the cat out?"

"Don't have a cat."

"Did you let the dog in?" she asked as she trailed her fingers over his chest.

"Don't have a dog."

"Leave the curling iron plugged in?"

"Not likely."

"Hmmm," she said, running her lips lightly across his. "You remembered the mouthwash. What else could you have forgotten?"

"I really don't care," he said, wrapping his arms around her.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The chirping sound caught Catherine's attention again. All night, it had been distracting her. Tossing the pen down, she looked up in disgust, jumping back when a pair of eyes jumped in front of her.

"Dammit!"

"What's wrong?" Greg asked as he walked by.

"Shut the door!"

"Hey, I know I'm cute, but this is work…"

"Sanders, shut that door now, or I'll stuff a flask where the sun doesn't shine!"

"Okay. What's wrong?"

"Grasshoppers."

"Grasshoppers?"

"They're loose! Gil left the top of off their cage," she said, pointing to the offending habitat on his shelf.

"How many were in there?"

"He just bought a new bunch the other day."

"If they get into the evidence…"

"I know! I'll get blamed for that, too!"

"What do we do?"

"Get everyone in here. We have to catch them," Catherine snarled, slamming a file on the desk and sending her neatly stacked papers flying in all directions.

"Or kill them."

"Oh, I'm going to kill him all right," she muttered under her breath.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Sara pulled back when she felt Grissom tense. She gave him a smile before snuggling against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Her grin deepened when he began running his fingers lightly through her hair.

He bent over to plant a soft kiss on the top of her head. Leaning his head back, he swallowed nervously. Things were progressing well, but soon she'd be learning the truth. Grissom couldn't help worrying about how she'd react. Deciding it would be better to give her advance warning, he captured her hand in his and brought to his lips.

"I don't think anyone talks about me."

Sara twisted around so she could see his face. Noticing his odd expression, she gave him a reassuring look.

"Of course, that's not entirely a bad thing. They may not be saying anything good, but there's nothing bad to report, either."

"I'm not sure I'm following you."

"I never had sex on an airplane."

Sara pulled back slowly, her concern growing. "How hard did you hit your head last week?"

"Why?"

"You're not making any sense."

"I'm a very average lover," he said with a ragged breath, getting up to hobble to the breakfast bar.

Sara cocked her head in confusion when he looked back.

"I don't want you to be disappointed."

She dropped her head to hide her amusement. If the way he could make her feel while kissing was any indication, he had nothing to worry about. Laughing, on the other hand, wouldn't be good. Nothing destroyed a male ego faster.

"I'm not worried," she replied.

"But you're used to more."

"No, I'm not."

"Fuller…"

"Was a bad influence, I told you," she said softly, trying to reassure him. "Where are we?"

"Besides your apartment? Las Vegas."

"Yeah. Sin City. If all I wanted was wild sex, even I could have managed that."

"What do you want?"

"You," she said softly, moving to stand beside him.

"I really don't want to lose you," he said softly. "I want you to be happy, and I'm not sure I can do that."

"Grissom," she sighed. "Don't worry. Trust me."

"And if you're not satisfied?"

"Then we'll have to practice more often," she said, shaking her head in exasperation.

"I'm serious," he said, stopping when a blouse landed over his head.

"So am I. I have to go to court in the morning. I'm going to bed now. You coming?"

He pulled off the material in time for the bra to smack him in the face. Seeing Sara's bare back heading down a hallway, Grissom quickly grabbed his crutches to follow her.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

**A/N: **Apologies to the AKC if they've changed their rules over the years.

_TBC_


	11. Ch 11

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:** A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:** PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_ first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Burked and Ann for beta-ing this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Grissom woke to the shrill sound of an alarm and a bare arm flapping over him to attack the source of the noise. A sleepy Sara, smiling sappily, slowly stretched satiatedly and snuggled against the somnolescent sternum of her sagacious sensual sexual sidekick.

Letting out a contented sigh, he smiled at the sight before him, positive he'd never seen her look more beautiful. Last night had been an incredible experience. For him, anyway. He hoped Sara felt the same. He licked his lips nervously, then began running his fingers through her hair.

"So, are we going to need a lot of practice?" he asked tentatively.

"Oh, yeah."

Grissom closed his eyes at the immediate, if drowsy, response. He had tried to make sure she enjoyed it, but his own nervousness had hindered the situation. At first, he'd been hesitant, then she literally took matters in her own hands. Hopefully, she'd give him the chance to correct the situation.

"I'm sorry, Sara," he said, wrapping his arm around her apologetically.

When his solemn tone made it through her sleep-addled brain, she let out a long groan. Crossing her arms over his chest, Sara rested her chin on her fists and let out a yawn before giving him a smile.

"In hindsight, that wasn't the wisest thing to tell you."

"It's the truth, isn't it?"

"The truth," she said with another yawn, "sorry. The truth is you have to be very careful what you ask me before I've had my first cup of coffee. I'm very open to suggestions when I first wake up."

"Really?" he asked curiously, earning him a playful slap on the chest.

"I didn't tell you that so you could take advantage of it!" Sara exclaimed before softening her tone. "The truth is, I _want_ us to practice a lot, but you don't _need_ it."

"Honestly?"

"Yes," Sara replied truthfully. While last night's encounter wouldn't go down in the record books, it had been very satisfying, especially given the awkwardness of the cast, and his own nervousness.

"You weren't disappointed?"

"You don't trust me? Did I sound disappointed last night?"

"You might have been trying to spare my feelings," Grissom pointed out.

"I wasn't. Everything was fine," Sara told him. "Very fine."

"But you've had better."

"I didn't say that."

"Nor are you denying it."

"Grissom …" she said, exhaling slowly as she shook her head at him. His concern was touching, if more than a little vexing. Sara had the urge to either kiss him or strangle him; she briefly considered doing both, but decided that would remind him too much of Lady Heather. She settled on a smile.

"I admit it – I'm over-organized. I sort my socks. I write in shorthand. But I don't have a sexual encounter database."

"So, you have had better," he said, laying his free arm over his eyes.

"I'm not having this conversation," she said, sinking her head back against this shoulder.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, his dejection clear.

"All right, yes," she said in exasperation. If he needed to hear the truth, then she'd tell him. "Last night wasn't the absolute best I ever had, but you're damn near the top of the list. You have nothing to worry about."

"How many other…"

"You're not going to ask that," she warned, tempering her response by tracing her fingers over his chest.

"Being near the top of a list of three is a lot different than being near the top of a list of 50," he said, laying his hand over top of hers.

Sara lifted her head off of his shoulder, but her rebuke died when she saw his expression. It was enough to make her heart flutter. He really was concerned. Letting out a sigh, she tried to reassure him. "More than three and a lot less than 50."

"Was Fuller better?"

"No!" she growled, resting her head on his chest. "He was overrated. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"That paramedic then?"

Sara opened one eye to glare at him. He had to bring him into this. As much as she hated to admit it, Hank had been a better lover, but in every other way he was a jerk. "Well, he had a lot more opportunities to practice, didn't he?"

Realizing he'd broached a sensitive subject, Grissom laid a gentle kiss on her head as he rubbed his hand across her back. "I don't want to disappoint you. I want you to be happy. I want to make you happy."

"You didn't," she insisted. "I am. And you do."

"Even if I'm not the best you've had."

"It wasn't that much better. And you're definitely the best-equipped," she said. It wasn't that important to her, but as she suspected, the comment garnered a mild chest puff. "Besides, this … your concern … that means more to me. You're the only guy who ever worried whether I was satisfied."

"You've been shortchanged."

"Why?"

"If they really cared about you, they would have cared whether you were pleased."

Sara lifted her head up to watch him with a bemused expression, wondering if he realized what he'd said. "You seem to … care … a lot about my pleasure."

Grissom returned the smile as he moved to cup her cheek. "More than I have words to describe."

His previously puffed chest deflated with an audible huff when Sara levered herself up to retrieve the alarm clock. "What time is it?"

"Huh?" he asked, distracted by the view her new position offered him.

"I have time before I have to head to court," she said, grinning suggestively as she moved over him. "I … care … about your pleasure, too."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"What did you do to my office?"

Grissom watched as Catherine dropped the stack of folders onto his desk and stalked angrily to the doorway. Some of the papers spilled to the floor, joining an assortment of their compatriots. His shelves were catty-cornered, one chair was broken and an odd odor filled the room.

Sara was going to meet him at his townhouse after court, but until then he was unsure what to do. Since they'd slept during the night, he wasn't ready to head back to bed. Given the ramshackled appearance of both his office and his friend, Grissom wondered if his plan to catch up on paperwork was a bad decision.

"You … you … you," she sputtered.

"Me, me, me, what?" he asked, frowning as he took in the brownish-green splotches marring his floor and desktop. He slowly turned to his shelves expectantly. "Where are my grasshoppers?"

"All over the place. You left the top off of their habitat."

"Oh."

"Oh? We had the entire lab in here trying to catch the damned things before they could contaminate everything, and all you can say is 'oh'?"

"They're easy to catch," Grissom said, giving her a patient look over the top of his glasses.

"What?" Catherine asked, collapsing heavily in one of the chairs. She let out a disgusted sound when she remembered that that chair hadn't been cleaned up yet.

"They're easy to catch. Close the door, turn up the A/C and set a heating pad in the center of the room. They'll move to the warmth."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"No," he said, plucking a stray leg from his pencil cup in fascination. "I figured that out after I lost my snake. I used to let him out to eat the grasshoppers when they got loose. I never did find him, though."

"You can't be serious," Catherine said, raising an eyebrow when she noticed how relaxed he seemed. She figured the destruction of his office would rate a mild explosion. A sly smile formed when she decided he already had an explosion of sorts.

"I did find a skin he molted in the break room year before last," Grissom replied. He turned back, confused by her sudden knowing look. How did she draw these conclusions?

Catherine's response was delayed by the sound of footsteps behind her. Turning around, she was curious to see Ecklie walking in. "Taking up interior decorating, Gil? You're not very good at it."

"You taking up comedy?" Grissom replied. "You're…"

"Grasshoppers tried to make a break for it last night," Catherine interjected.

"Why didn't you just call Gil in to take care of it?"

"It was my night off."

"Were you in the middle of something you didn't want interrupted?"

If her friend's frown wasn't enough of a clue, Ecklie's laugh as he left the room was all Catherine needed to figure out that the day shift supervisor had his suspicions about Grissom and Sara's relationship. That wasn't going to be good.

"Don't do anything stupid," she advised him as she got up to leave.

"What about my office?"

"Have your snake fix it."

"Catherine!"

"I'll take care of it tonight. I'm going home."

Grissom took his glasses off as he considered the situation. Catherine was angry with him. He wanted to do something nice for Sara. Ecklie needed to be taken care off. Putting his glasses back on, he picked up the phone and brushed grasshopper guts from it as he searched his Rolodex.

"Is Paul there? This is Gil Grissom. …. Paul, hi. I need a rush order."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Ecklie smiled evilly as he headed towards his office. Grissom's panicked look when he grilled him about his activities last night was all the verification he needed that he and Sidle were an item.

Settling behind his pristine desk, Ecklie laughed at the thought of Grissom worrying over the possibility that knowledge of his affair would become public knowledge. Did he actually think he'd get in trouble over that?

The lab management had been willing to overlook the fact that his CSI Brown's troubles had gotten Holly Gribbs killed and put an innocent man in the hospital. Stokes had slept with a prostitute, and his comments to the press caused a pair of serial killers to nearly escape. Willows – well, all her screw-ups should have landed her on the unemployment line.

An affair between two consenting adults, especially one they'd managed to keep under wraps, was nothing compared to those events. The only action Cavallo was likely to take would be to warn them to keep it private – an unnecessary precaution for the two most socially reclusive people in the lab.

Of course, Grissom didn't know this. And Grissom's guilty conscience was all he needed to get the formula for Red Creeper.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"How did court go?" Grissom asked as he welcomed Sara into his townhouse.

"Fine," she said, giving him a brief kiss once the door was closed. She followed him into the living room, cocking her head at the terrarium she saw sitting on his dining room table. Other bug-related supplies poked out of a shopping bag beside it.

"I'm getting ready to set up a new habitat."

"How did you get it in the house?"

"My neighbor, Mrs. Flanagan, carried it in for me," Grissom groused as he flopped down on the couch.

"What's wrong with your neighbor being neighborly?" she teased, knowing he hated the restrictions crutches put on him.

"She's 72 years old."

Sara chuckled as she settled on the couch beside him, slipping her dress shoes off before tucking her legs under her. She reached over to trail her fingers over his neck slowly, eventually bringing a smile to Grissom's face.

"You look nice," Grissom said as he ran a hand over her bare knees.

"Thanks," she replied softly. Her appreciation of his attention was cut short when she spied a manila folder tucked beside the cushion. "What were you working on?"

It was Grissom's turn to chuckle as she leaned over him to grab it. He usually admired her dedication to the job, but right now he had other admirations on his mind. "Our café shooting? One of the guns was used in the gang murder."

"Sweet. I'll go home and change, and I can get right to work on this."

"No," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her back down on his lap. He wrapped one arm around her waist when she tried to get up and used the other to pull the folder from her hand. "No."

"We have a murder to work."

"And it'll still be there tonight. You need to sleep."

"I slept last night. I won't need to sleep again for a long time."

"Uh-uh."

"Grissom," she said in amusement, wiggling against him to added effect as she made a grab for the folder.

"As your paramour, I have to right – no, the obligation – to make sure you take care of yourself," he said with a smirk.

"You're not going to work on this?"

"Not right now. I'm going to work on my new hobby."

"Your new bugs?"

"Nope. Making sure you spend enough time in bed."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

_TBC_


	12. Ch 12

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:** A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:** PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_ first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Burked and Ann for beta-ing this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 12 **

A distracted Sara entered the evidence vault, finding Nick already there. Her able-bodied associate adroitly assembled assorted articles and attire applicable to his abnormally awoken accosted actuary.

Lost in her own thoughts, she gave him a friendly wave as she went to check out the evidence from the café shooting. "Hey, Lazarus. Solve your robbery?"

"It was Lazarus that got robbed," he chuckled. "And he was drugged. Won six grand at a poker game, had one drink before heading to his room, and woke up when David was feeling for a pulse."

"That'll ruin your day."

"I don't know about that. I think not waking up when the coroner's feeling for a pulse would ruin your day," Nick replied, noticing Sara seemed preoccupied. He smothered his grin before leaning in close to her. "Grissom here yet?"

"I think so," she replied. After dinner, she'd left his townhouse to grab a change of clothes before heading in. He'd been planning on going straight to the office. She hadn't seen him yet, and she hoped he wasn't still upset. She had apologized. Sara frowned when she saw Nick watching her. "Why?"

"Cath's goin' to rip him a new one."

"She have a reason this time?"

"We spent all night roundin' up grasshoppers."

"Is that a Texas thing?" Sara asked as she signed the logs. "No cows around?"

"Ha-ha. No, Grissom left the top of off the grasshopper habitat."

"So, that's what he forgot."

"How did you know he forgot something?"

Sara darted her eyes sideways to find Nick grinning broadly at her. A soft laugh came from the clerk manning the vault. Was there anyone in the building who hadn't figured out – or suspected – that she and Grissom were together?

"He mentioned it," she said vaguely, grabbing her evidence and making a beeline to the Layout Room.

"When did he tell you?" Nick pressed, ignoring the glare she gave him when he followed her.

"After shift."

"Guess we know what you're doin' on your day off. Or who you're…"

"Don't go there, Nick!"

"Sounds like someone's already there."

Sara turned her head to give him a cautionary stare. His teasing was bad enough, but to do it in the hallway where anyone could hear was treading on dangerous ground. "I was in court the past two days."

"Not all day."

"Felt like it. No comments," she said emphatically.

"Would I do something like that?"

"Yes, and I actually went to bed for a change," she said, giving him an innocent look as she dropped her packages on the table.

"Doesn't mean you were sleeping."

"Nick!"

"Hey, now! You think we wouldn't figure it out? I'm a highly competent CSI."

"So, what do cows drink?" she muttered, frowning when it encouraged another round of chortling.

"He told you that? Not my idea of sweet talk, but if that's what turns .. owwww!"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Greg looked up from his samples when he heard the bickering in the hallway. Sara and Nick exited the Layout Room and headed his way. He let out a sigh of relief when he realized they were the ones arguing. Ever since he saw them together at the convention, he'd been worried.

But this sounded like a whopper. That really ruled out that they might be … an item. Who ever heard of lovers quarrelling … Damn.

He shook his head as they entered his lab. Nah. The look Sara was flashing Nick wasn't the aren't-we-a-cute-couple type. No, it was more of a soon-to-have-a-body-to-dispose-of look. Definitely the look of a woman who could commit a crime of passion … Damn.

"Drop it!" Sara hissed as they approached Greg.

"Nick, these belong to you. Nada on CODIS. Let me know if you get anything to compare it to."

"Will do, bud. Thanks," he said, grabbing the printout and heading to the door. Once he was out of harm's way, he called back. "Hey, Sar! I'm flying back to Texas for a reunion next month. Any tips?"

"Drop it while you still have one," she warned, turning to give Greg an impatient look. "Get it over with."

"What?"

"The joke you're going to make. Get your digs in."

Greg swallowed quickly, turning his back in case any drool was escaping. So the rumors about Sara and the Mile High Club were true. Oh. Wow. He mentally began reviewing the globe, trying to figure out what the longest flight out of Las Vegas would be. Sara's foot-tapping brought his attention back to the lovely woman waiting for him.

"I wouldn't do that to you. I know what it's like to be the butt of jokes around here. No fun. Not cool," he said softly, moving to his microscope.

Sara's expression morphed from anger to confusion as she watched her colleague dejectedly process his samples. Had she insulted him? Again? Something had been wrong with Greg for days now.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked kindly.

"Nothing you'd be interested in."

"Look, if you need to talk…"

"I know, I know. The shrink…"

"I was going to say that I'm going to head back to the coffee house on break. Wanna tag along?" Sara offered, wondering if she should have recommended he talk to Dr. Kane when he gave her a bright-eyed smile. His mood swings were starting to frighten her.

"Sure. If you don't mind."

"Of course not," Sara said, trying to smile convincingly. "My DNA?"

"Is still replicating," Greg said, stopping himself from saying 'beautiful'. "The sample wasn't very good."

"Okay, let me know if you get anything from it."

"You're my top priority," he called out, smiling until she was out of sight.

As a master chess player, he knew the risks of repeating a strategy, but the sympathy ploy had been his only successful move so far. It worked a second time, but Greg knew he couldn't count on it much longer.

Of course, that wasn't a concern. He was slowly, but steadily, moving Sara in for the check. Soon the mate would follow. Oh. Wow. He smiled dreamily as he leaned back, his overactive imagination supplying the details.

Hearing the sound of someone crashing off of a stool, Archie poked his head into the DNA Lab. Seeing Greg's goofy grin, he shook his head as he made his way towards his own domain. Someone had to do something before Greg got himself into too much trouble.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Catherine let out a disgusted breath as she picked up another stack of reports stained with green gobs of greasy grasshopper guts. As a precaution, she'd worn a double pair of gloves and a set of coveralls, but she still wanted to take a long, hot shower when she was done.

"His own damned fault. Left his grasshoppers out. Why does he have grasshoppers here anyway? Keep his damned bugs at home. Bet Sara would love that."

Flopping down in his chair, she began sorting out the forms and reports into stacks based on how damaged they were. "What a mess. I can't turn in forms with insect guts on them," she muttered, pausing after a few minutes. She wouldn't turn in reports that looked like this, but would anyone be surprised if Gil did?

She let out a growl as she resumed the sorting process, seeing no way to avoid the task. This batch of paperwork was actually legible; no one would believe Gil had filled them out. Next time she did his paperwork, she'd have to remember to drink a gallon of coffee beforehand.

"Turn up the air conditioning and set out a heating pad! Hah. Acts like that's common knowledge. Did he really want me to bother him to round them up? I don't think so."

Despite her bad mood, Catherine felt the corners of her lips start to upturn. It had taken the pair of them long enough, but she was glad they were making progress. Gil deserved to be happy, even if she felt he needed a flyswatter upside the head on occasion. Sara was the perfect person to do it.

"I hope you appreciate this, Gil," she said when he entered his office later that shift.

"Well, you trashed it. Only fair you clean it up," he said, recoiling when she snarled at him. "I wanted to give you a warning."

"Leave any other cages open?"

"No, but be on the lookout for my snake. All the grasshopper parts might tempt him back in."

"I'm not afraid of snakes, Gil. You can't fool me with that line," she said, giving him a sharp look.

"I'm serious," Grissom replied, shaking his head as he went back to work. Why did it surprise her that a snake could wander loose in the lab? There were plenty of places for one to hide.

Catherine returned to the paperwork, wondering how it managed to multiply during their discussion. "It's my imagination. It only looks like there's more. Damn. I'm talking to myself. This can't be good."

She paused when she heard a slithering sound coming from somewhere under one of Grissom's shelves. Maybe he had been serious about the snake. He never mentioned if it was poisonous or not, though. A smile formed anyway. "I'll strangle him with it," she vowed.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Hey!"

Hearing Sara's call, Grissom paused in front of the elevator, waiting until she joined him to press the call button. He started to smile, but her serious expression made him curious.

"I'm on my way to see Al. He's re-examining the killing. What's up?"

"Did you yell at Greg?" she asked.

"No more than normal," Grissom replied after thinking over the last few shifts.

"Something's wrong with him. He's really down in the dumps."

"Are you sure you're not exaggerating?" he asked pointedly as he moved into the elevator. When she didn't follow, Grissom used his crutch to block the door from closing until she entered. "Again?"

Sara blushed as she leaned against the elevator wall. Grissom had still been worrying about his performance when they moved to his bedroom earlier. Since telling him outright that he'd been great hadn't helped, she figured being more appreciative during the act might work better.

She must have gone overboard, because he hadn't been amused.

"I told you. I always over-talk around you."

"I don't think that qualifies as speech," he huffed, finally giving her a smile when she rolled her eyes at him. "It sounded like something out of a bad porn movie."

"Speaking from experience?" she quipped, grinning when he looked at her sheepishly.

"You're exposed to a lot on this job."

"What case did you learn that?"

Grissom didn't take the bait, instead raising an eyebrow at her. "You don't have to stroke my ego."

"As I recall, that wasn't what I was stroking when you complained."

"Sara," he sighed.

"I said I was sorry. If you'd trust me, it never would have happened," she said, resting a hand gently on his arm. "You're incredible."

"No grunts this time?"

"Didn't think elevators were your thing," Sara pointed out, changing the subject to one that was less embarrassing, at least to her. "Is there such a thing as a good porn movie?"

"That would depend on your definition of 'good'," he teased back.

"I'm asking you."

"Is there any safe answer to that question?" he asked, following her out of the elevator.

"Why ruin my fun by telling you?" Sara said as they moved towards the morgue. "And I wasn't joking. Greg's acting very weird."

"Weird is Greg's normal state."

"Then he's being un-weird. Seriously, something's not right with him."

"I could have told you that," Grissom replied seriously. "I don't know what could be bothering him. Why don't you take him on a case with you? He likes going out in the field."

"Okay. Greg and I are going on break together later. I'll tell him then."

"You and Greg? I think I need to have a talk with my sources. That's definitely not the story making the rounds in the office grapevine," Robbins said lightly when they entered the morgue.

"Remind me to pick up some herbicides," Sara muttered softly as she left the morgue.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Bobby glanced around nervously, then leaned forward over the workbench, making sure to keep his voice low. "Don't go messin' in other people's business."

"You want to see Sara go after Greg," Archie replied.

"Hell, yeah!"

"I thought you were friends!"

"We are, but damn! That'll be a sight. I don't want to miss that one."

"Archie's right," Jacqui added. "He's really in over his head this time."

"I thought you wanted to see Greg get walloped," Bobby said disappointedly. Her lab was the closest to DNA, and when he'd gotten on an ABBA kick last summer, she'd threatened to turn Greg into a dancing queen.

"Walloped, not killed," she said.

"You surprise me," Bobby stated sadly.

"Who's going to spring for the good coffee if he's dead?"

"I guess you have a point there."

"Guys," Archie exclaimed. "Come on. Let's get serious."

Bobby and Jacqui exchanged shrugs. They had been serious.

"So what do we do?" the ballistics expert asked.

"We have to tell Sara."

"Is that a good idea?" Jacqui asked. "I mean, we've known all this time what he's been up to. Won't she get mad at us for not saying anything sooner?"

"Oh, man, that's a good point."

"I thought you wanted to see Sara go off," Archie snapped.

"Not at me!"

"Well, what else can we do? Greg won't listen. I'm not going to tell, Grissom. Are you?" he asked his colleagues, who both shook their heads as they loudly declined. "We have to tell Sara."

"What, exactly, do you have to tell her?"

All three turned to find their supervisor standing behind them, a curious look on his face. When he'd heard his name mentioned along with "not me", he'd made his way into the Fingerprint Lab, wondering if someone had screwed up a test result.

Grissom was beginning to question that. He shifted to a more comfortable position on his crutches, waiting for an explanation. The lab techs stared at him, their mouths alternately opening and closing like a school of highly-educated guppies.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

_TBC_


	13. Ch 13

**Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents **

**Summary:** A sequel to _Poetic Injustice_. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

**Rating:** PG to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** Probably a good idea to read _Poetic Injustice_ first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for _Unfriendly Skies_. Thanks to Burked and Ann for beta-ing this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.

* * *

**Chapter 13 **

After shutting her locker door, Sara rested her head against the cool metal as she tried to calm down. Recalling her earlier excitable exchange with an extremely exasperating Ecklie, she exhaled exhaustively, expanding into an explosion of explicit expletives as she explored exotic avenues of exterminating through exsanguination the exploiting extortionist who threatened to expose their exuberant extramarital affair to their exacting executives.

Ecklie had found her examining evidence in the Drying Room at the end of shift. After exchanging fake pleasantries, he launched into a very reasoned explanation of why it would benefit the entire lab by having the formula for Red Creeper available.

Sara actually found herself swayed by some of his points until he threw out that neither she nor Grissom may be employed much longer if Cavallo found out about their relationship. The conversation had gone downhill from there.

If the formula had been hers to give away, and if she thought it would keep Ecklie at bay, she would have carved it into his hide on the spot. But she knew that giving into a blackmailer only encouraged them to make more demands. Besides, the guy was really starting to piss her off.

With a frustrated growl, she went to look for Grissom. It had taken them too damn long to get together. She wasn't going to let anything – or anyone – get in their way. She hoped Grissom felt the same way; he was almost painfully private. Ecklie's threat would be hard on him.

Walking into his office, Sara stopped short, staring incredulously at Catherine. Her coworker lay on the floor near his shelves, limbs akimbo.

"Yoga?" Sara asked hesitantly.

"Trying to get Grissom's damned snake back in a container," she snapped.

"Why would you want to handle Grissom's snake?"

"Think I should be asking you that," Catherine said, brushing her hands off as she sat up. Seeing Sara's shocked expression, she grinned. "Oh, relax. Everyone knows."

"I know. That's the problem. Seen Grissom?"

"Sheriff called him into a meeting. You okay?"

"Yeah," Sara answered, turning to leave. "Hey, Cath. If you turn up the air and put out a heating pad, the snake will come to it."

When Catherine began swearing extensively, Sara quickly left the room.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Archie took a solemn sip of his coffee and shared a concerned look with Jacqui. "What do you think?"

"I say the Sphere."

"I don't know. I was thinking maybe Circus Circus."

"Isn't that a little … silly?" she asked. "I know it's for Greg, but still."

"What's for Greg?" Hodges asked as he entered the break room.

"Trying to figure out where to have his going away party."

"Sara found out?"

"No," Archie said, frowning first at Hodge's happy tone of voice, then his disappointed look.

"Worse," Jacqui added. "Grissom found out."

"Don't waste your time planning a party," Hodges smirked as he left the room. "You need a wake."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Grissom waved Sara in as she tentatively opened his door. Catherine had left him a message that she had been upset. After his meeting, he'd invited her to his townhouse for breakfast, telling her to see herself in. Pointing to a waiting mug off coffee, he gave Sara a smile.

"Thanks," she said, leaning against the counter.

"You're welcome. What do you feel like?"

"Like I'm playing hooky."

"I meant for your omelet," he said, pointing out various vegetables with his knife.

"Anything," she answered with a vague hand wave. "People are noticing that I'm not working all the time."

"You sound disappointed," he said with a playful pout, hoping to lift her spirits.

"Not on my end."

When he saw her smile never reached her eyes, Grissom slid off of his stool. He slowly hopped around the breakfast bar, finally wrapping one arm around her while he braced the other on the counter. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips lightly against hers.

"Don't worry about Ecklie."

"I can't help it," she sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist to help him balance. "This … what we have now … it's so good. I don't want anything to screw this up."

"Nothing will."

"You sound awfully confident."

"I am," Grissom stated. "Trust me."

"I'll try," she sighed heavily, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I know I told you that you didn't have to stroke my ego, but have some pity."

Sara chuckled before lifting her head and giving him a quick kiss. She tightened her hold when he had to shift to regain his balance.

"Go sit down. I'll fix breakfast."

"I can still do that much," Grissom huffed, embarrassed about nearly losing his balance while trying to comfort Sara.

"You can do a lot of things. Very well. So save your strength for later."

Grissom gave her a grateful smile and a lingering kiss. "I knew there was a reason I loved you."

Her bad mood evaporating, Sara flashed him a one of her patented toothy smiles. "Just one reason?"

"I'm sure there're others."

"Going to share?"

"Maybe."

"I can make it worth your while," she whispered conspiratorially, letting a finger trace down the front of his shirt.

"In that case," Grissom said eagerly. "How to approach this? They're hard to quantify, so I can't list them in order of importance. Would alphabetically suffice?"

"You come up with something that starts with an 'x', and I'll really make it worth your while."

"Xenogenetic," he answered immediately, causing Sara to laugh.

"You've never met my parents. You don't know that I'm completely different from them. Any why would that be a reason to love me if it were true?"

"You're xerophilous," Grissom continued, winking as he bypassed her question.

"I am? And that's a good thing?"

"You can look it up later. Go fix breakfast," he said, breaking off contact to hop to a stool. "We need to get up early tonight."

"What's up?"

"It's a surprise."

"Going to work on more bug suicides?" she asked as she went to retrieve the eggs.

"It's with bugs, but not fake suicides. I think I covered all the possible ones."

"Drowned water bug. Bagworm suffocated. A jumping…"

"You're scary," Grissom interrupted.

"That's 'x' and 's'. Get 24 more, and you'll get your treat."

Grissom sipped his juice slowly, mentally creating an amorous alphabetic adjective listing, pausing when he got to 'g'. "Before I forget, we need to have a little chat about Greg."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Catherine walked slowly into her bathroom, visions of steamy clouds enveloping her tired muscles. She started the water running, testing it to make sure it was the perfect temperature before she began stripping. She frowned at the pain; with all the practice she had taking her clothes off, she figured it would be the easiest part of her day.

She'd finally finished all of the paperwork, hauled box loads of insect-stained forms to recycling, straightened Grissom's office, and her maternal nature made her go over everything with a disinfectant. She even managed to lure the snake out. Plans of using it as a garrote died quickly; the stupid thing had managed to give her a forlorn expression.

Instead, Catherine left it in Grissom's boot for safekeeping. If she felt like it later, she'd even call him to let him know it was in there.

She smiled in anticipation as she stepped into the shower, yelping when the ice cold water pelted her skin. Sputtering, she grabbed the dial, swearing loudly when it broke off in her hand. Grabbing a towel, she went to get the phone book, wondering how much a new hot water heater would cost.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Grissom," he answered sleepily, wrapping his free arm around Sara as she snuggled against him. "What happened? …. I see … Where? … You don't say … Who, me? … Now?…

Well, I'm in bed … Okay, be there in a little while."

"Bugs?"

"As a matter of fact, yes it is," he said, leaning in closer. "You're coming with me."

"Okay."

Grissom cocked his head in amazement. Sara really was open to suggestions when she first woke up. She hadn't even questioned how he knew this case would be coming, or why they were going together.

After a shower and sufficient caffeine, Sara pointed out it would look suspicious if they arrived together at the scene. Grissom merely looked over at her as she drove towards the lab, smiling slyly. Her confusion rose when he directed her to park near Ecklie, who had his car trunk open.

"Real subtle," Ecklie sneered as they walked over.

"Good evening, Conrad. What's the trouble?"

"You know damn well what the trouble is!"

"Looks like you brought back a visitor with you when you went to Puerto Rico," Grissom said as he picked up a very colorful, very large roach from the car trunk. It was one of several crawling around the interior.

"That's huge," Sara added unnecessarily.

"It's still immature."

"Get rid of it now, or by god, I'll…"

"I'm off-duty. This isn't work-related. If that's the way you're going to be…"

"You wouldn't dare," Ecklie hissed.

"Don't talk to me about what you wouldn't dare," Grissom said lowly.

"Fine. You win. Fix this!"

Sara had followed the exchange with a baffled expression on her face, raising an eyebrow when Grissom slowly smiled at Ecklie's retreating back.

"What the hell was that all about?"

"Hand me some sample jars."

"You going to keep these guys?"

"Of course," he said enthusiastically. "Wait until you see what he's like when he's full-grown."

"Is this an entomologist thing, or a guy entomologist thing? You know, being impressed by big … bugs."

"The bigger, the better."

"I'll go to the pet store. You'll need a new habitat," Sara offered, pausing when Grissom gave her a disappointed look over his glasses. "You have a new habitat. You knew this was going to happen. You did this."

"I told you I'd take care of things."

"Wait, I don't get it. Ecklie's afraid of bugs?"

"No, his daughter is. Has been for years. I thought she'd like the chance to play with my tarantula," Grissom said, clearly puzzled that the little girl had screamed when he placed the hairy spider on her shoulder. "Anyway, he won't bother us now."

"You planned on terrorizing his little girl to get him to leave us alone?" Sara asked in disbelief.

"I knew he'd call me. He always puts his briefcase in the trunk. The bugs weren't going to move from there," he said, startled by Sara's look. "It's not like they bite."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Okay, watch what I'm doing. I'll let you finish the rest of them," Sara told Greg as she laid out the film used by the electronic footprint lifter. He'd been overly-excited when she told him he could tag along on her case at the start of shift. Grissom had agreed to let her handle Greg on her own. "Make sure you work out all the bubbles."

"Right. Avoid a void," he quipped, dazed by the smile she flashed him. He knew it was only a matter of time before she came to her senses.

"Yeah. Very witty, Greg."

"Of course I am. It's just one of my many assets."

"Really?"

"But of course! I know how to treat a lady right. That takes class, suave, savoir faire, excellent taste in music and wine,…"

"Sounds like you're the real lady killer."

"I am," he said dramatically. "But I'm not impressed by every filly that passes the gate."

"Picky in the women you like?" Sara asked, smiling broadly as she watched him work the next print.

"Oh, definitely. Needs to be intelligent, cool, witty, and a hot looker. That's what I look for in my women."

"Same here," she said evenly, suppressing her smile when Greg choked.

"You like that in…"

"My women," Sara confided, nodding her head.

"You're … you're not…"

"Don't tell, okay? You know how some people get with that type of stuff," Sara said, biting the inside of her lip to stop from laughing at Greg's stammering.

"Hank," he eventually managed to get out.

"It's not his fault he got stuck in a guy's body."

"You mean, wait, Hank was, but, then he, what?"

"He looked so cute in his dresses," Sara sighed. "I have pictures. I can bring them in if you want to see them."

Greg shook his head dramatically. Warrick had already warned him to stay away from any pictures Sara or Catherine tried to show him.

"You know, I could wear a dress," Greg confessed after a while.

"It just wouldn't be the same. I know you're a real guy's guy," Sara said apologetically, giving him a friendly grin.

"Not literally! Okay. It was worth a shot," he sighed wistfully as he moved to the next print. "Say, have you and Cath ever … stop … don't … I was only joking!"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Sara smiled as she walked into the living room, seeing Grissom asleep on the couch with a book resting on his chest. He'd had a doctor's appointment in the morning and said he needed to run some errands. She had a warrant to execute on their café shooting. Before he left, he slipped her a key to his townhouse, telling her to make herself at home if she got there before he did.

Kicking off her shoes, she grabbed a bottle of water, enjoying the sight of him sleeping on the couch. She knew from experience that the couch wasn't the most comfortable, so she decided to wake him up to head to bed. Crossing the room, she paused when she saw the title of the book.

Sitting on the coffee table, she picked it up slowly, being careful not to disrupt his arm. After staring at the cover for a moment, Sara finally looked at the page he'd been reading, setting the book down quickly.

"You weren't supposed to see that," Grissom admitted sleepily, sitting up and holding his hand out to Sara. When she placed the book in his hand, he set it on the couch, then pulled her so she was sitting on his lap.

"What are you doing with something like that?" Sara asked softly, confusion clearly written on her features.

"I want to make sure you're never disappointed," he said, nodding to the copy of _A Man's Guide to Pleasuring Your Partner Every Time_.

"Grissom, you really didn't have to do that," Sara exclaimed, shaking her head when he reached over to pick the book up. She placed one hand on the back of his neck, lightly running her fingers through the soft curls there. The thought was nice, but a sex book? What exactly did he expect them to do?

"It's very informative," he started, not noticing her embarrassed look as he opened the book to the first section of photographs.

Sara rolled her eyes as she went to look at the photographs. After everything they'd seen on the job, how bad could this be? Seriously, though, the thought of Grissom doing … wow. That looked … wow.

Grissom paused when he noticed her fingers clenching his hair tighter. Following her eyes, he raised an eyebrow at the photo that seemed to hold her attention. He'd skimmed over that section; he made a mental note to go back and read it more closely.

Sara licked her lips and reached out to flip through the pages. If Grissom had gone to all this trouble, the least she could do was go along with it. She paused at one picture, tilting her head in confusion.

Grissom watched as she started to turn the book slightly to one side, then the other. He looked back down and nodded. "I couldn't figure that one out myself," he admitted.

"We can get back to it later," Sara said hoarsely, flipping through more pages. "We'll have to wait until your cast is off before trying that. If you want to," she said, noticing his nervous expression at what looked like a very precarious position.

"I want to," he replied, clearing his own gravelly voice. Grissom gave himself a mental kick. Sara had to have noticed his reaction to this by now. He smiled as she skimmed through other parts of the book. He'd been nervous that she'd find the book too risqué, but Sara seemed enthused.

Or at least she had.

"No way," she stated, shaking her head for added effect as she flipped through one part of the book quickly.

"What?" he asked, bending over to see what had prompted this reaction.

"All of Chapter 14 is out. Not going to happen."

"But…"

"No butt!"

"Oh," he sighed.

Sara closed the book and looked at Grissom, confused by his disappointed expression. "You don't actually like _that_, do you?"

"I've never tried it before."

"You can find someone else to try _that_ with," she said petulantly.

"Then I'll never try it. I have no interest in anyone else," he said, running a finger along her jaw line.

Sara nuzzled against his neck, planting a line of kisses on the sensitive flesh, slowly making her way to his lips.

"Where did you find that book anyway?"

"Las Vegas has a number of shops that specialize in that type of material."

"And you went in one?" Sara asked, smiling at him.

"Of course."

"What would you have done if you ran into someone you knew there?"

"They'd be in the same situation."

"But what would you have told them?" Sara teased.

"Research," Grissom said as if it was obvious, causing Sara to sit up straight in his lap and give him an odd look.

"I've seen your experiments. I think I should be worried."

"Smart ass," he muttered.

"I thought we already ruled that out," Sara said, shifting so she was resting her head on his shoulder again. "Did you notice if they had a version of this book for women to please their partners?"

"I think that's Chapter 14," Grissom teased, working the tail of Sara's shirt out of her jeans.

"Not going to happen."

"You asked," he said, running his fingertips in small circles over the soft skin of her back.

"Guess I'll have to think of something on my own," she replied, getting off of him and making her way to the bedroom.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Grissom looked up as Greg bounded into his office at the start of the next shift, frowning as the tech came to a screeching stop in front of his desk.

"Are those the results I asked for?" Grissom asked slowly.

"Guh."

"Is that a positive 'guh' or a negative 'guh'?"

"Ot."

"Did you hit your head, Greg?"

"Gah."

Grissom got up from his desk, and hobbled around to take the folder from the shell-shocked younger man. "Did you talk to Sara yet?"

"Hipbahra."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Grissom said dryly as Greg stared at his desk. Sara had said she'd take care of everything; all he needed to do was let her leave a catalogue on his desk. Seeing Greg's fascinated and frightened stare, Grissom began to think he'd been set up as well.

"Go back to your lab," he ordered, looking back on his desk. Seeing the catalogue was for a dress company, he picked it up, and went looking for Sara. Finding her in the break room, he held out the offending flyer, a questioning look on his face.

Sara gave him a smirk, shrugging apologetically as she went to retrieve it. She didn't think Grissom would get upset by her plan. Well, she knew ways to make it up to him. If all else failed, there always was Chapter 14.

**The End **


End file.
